Shire 1435: The Annuminas Alliance
by summerald
Summary: Post Hobbit-LOTR AU: Sam hosts a dinner at Bag End that includes King Kili of Ered Luin, Elladan of Rivendell, and of course, the Master of Buckland and the Took and Thain. King Elessar will be riding north...but is the northland free of Mordor's last remnants? A new alliance forms in Bag End's dining room, but can they find the elusive Shadowback before Aragorn's visit?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _October the 6th, S.R. 1435_

In the fourteen years since Sam Gamgee, Mayor of the Shire, had inherited Bag End, he had changed almost nothing about it. He kept it as much as it has always been when it had been old Bilbo's home. By necessity (given his young and growing family) he had modified only one wing of the sprawling hobbit-hole: he'd enlarged the pantry, the kitchen, and the formal dining room.

And he was well-known for keeping his larder well-stocked.

On this particular rainy October evening, he found himself, not the first time, hosting a few notables of Middle Earth.

Everyone was inside, their damp cloaks hung in the hall, and provender on the table.

Sam sat, a full mug of ale was passed to him by the dwarf on his left, and then the tall elf to his right nodded once and began.

" _Mae govannen, mellyn_." Elladan of Rivendell began... as he graciously lifted a goblet of well-aged Shire wine. "I come bearing greetings to you from our good King Elessar."

"To Aragorn!" Sam toasted.

Around the table, the Thain of Tookland (Mr. Peregrin Took,) the Master of Buckland (Mr. Merry Brandybuck), the Chief of the Dunedain (Lord Halden), and the King of Ered Luin (none other than Kili, Sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield), joined in by lifting tankards of Sam's best pale ale.

"To Aragorn!"

"And to dinner," Merry Brandybuck said, holding his tankard high.

"Before business!" Pippin finished with a satisfied smile.

They drank with gusto, each according to his kind, and set to the enjoyment of a hobbit meal, full of wholesome and hearty foods—from soup (barley) to sausages (pork) and berries (with crumb cake) topped with cream.

Discussions were limited to "pass the potatoes" and "who'll have more ale?"

Afterward, Sam shared his best Longbottom leaf, pipes were lit, and five serious faces (hobbit, man, and dwarf) looked at the elf.

Elladan's eyebrows went up, as if he were simply an innocent visitor.

"Come, my good friend," Halden said with a smile. "Tell us why you've called us together."

Merry Brandybuck nodded. "You've come from Minas Tirith." He puffed his pipe and leaned forward. "What's our good Strider got on his mind these days?"

"Or not?" Pippin added. "I don't suppose it's possible he's sent one of the most important elves out to visit us just for the chance at a Bag End dinner party?" Merry and Pippin laughed.

Sam heard Kili snort.

"Not," the dwarf nearly growled. "Likely."

Sam nodded his agreement.

"Indeed not," Elladan inclined his head toward the group. "First, he implores us to secrecy," he paused to look around the room. Sam puffed his pipe and watched Merry and Pippen become serious at last, and as always the man and the dwarf looked steady.

"And second," Elladan went on. "Our Lord Aragorn wishes you to know that he will be traveling this year."

Sam saw Pippin's eyebrows go up as though he were surprised by a mouse. "Really?" Pippin squeaked.

But Merry was laughing out loud. "Of course! About time he left the cozy walls of his white city." He tipped his head back and drained what ale remained in his mug.

Sam kept his temper, well-used to Merry and Pippin.

"Traveling where?" Kili's deep voice sobered the two rowdy hobbits.

"First to Rivendell," Elladan said. "And then to Arnor," he looked at Halden. "He wishes to visit his northern Kingdom."

The room was quiet. Sam did not like the risk...Arnor remained a wilderland.

Halden's face was thoughtful. "His northern subjects live in scattered settlements which move with the seasons," he said, referring to the lives led by Rangers. "Does he mean to visit them all?"

"He means," Elladan said. "To dwell for the summer on the shores of Lake Evendim."

"Annuminas." Kili said. "He means to go there?"

"Yes," Elladan answered, with a nod to Kili. "Dwarves will understand," he said. "The importance of re-building the old cities."

Kili sat back. "Like Erebor," he said.

The room became silent. Everyone knew that the dwarves' reclaiming of Erebor had cost Thorin Oakenshield his life.

"Well," Pippin said, looking around. "At least there's no dragon living there."

Sam nearly cringed at the awkward reference. No one spoke.

"Is there?" Pippin asked.

Kili smiled kindly as he made a warding gesture with his pipe. "Let's hope not," he said quietly.

Halden spoke up. "No dragon….no." He and Kili looked at each other.

"Then what?" Sam said, brows drawn. "It's no secret that we still have dark things slinking around Middle Earth."

Kili puffed on his pipe. "Shadbak." He looked at Halden.

Sam looked at Merry and Pippin. "Shadbak?"

They shook their heads.

Then Sam made the connection. "Shadowback," he said, using the Hobbits' name. He watched Merry and Pippin look at each other in sudden understanding. "That old creature you routed from the South Downs...isn't she dead?" he asked.

"No." Merry Brandybuck set his ale mug down. He looked around with a passable glower. "I'm sorry to say that wicked thing of a goblin has more lives than a barnyard cat," he said in seriousness. "We had sight of her last fall, south of Sarn Ford. Shot two of her followers."

Elladan sat back. "So that's where she went. Two of our outriders reported fighting a scattered remnant of mountain goblins moving past Tharbad late summer. They weren't in a pack...they were spread out over several leagues, giving the impression that each was alone. There were many more than two, I'm afraid."

"Aye," Pippin agreed. "Tookland archers chased more than a dozen for three days in the White Hills past Undertowers. We accounted for eight."

"The Ered Luin militia," Kili murmured. "Reported six different sightings of goblin-kind on the Lune at night, going upriver...not three months past. They crossed back to the eastern shore. Headed into the Emyn Uial."

"Sly as foxes, that group," Sam said. "But does Aragorn know this creature is still sneaking through the boroughs?" Sam asked.

Everyone was quiet.

"He knows the main forces are gone. They have no fighting strength, no will to unite. But it will take years to track down every last remnant of Mordor." Halden shook his head. "But when the Dunedain find goblin-kind, they are pursued until dead."

"As do the elves," Elladan said.

"And the dwarves," Kili added. "But the question lads, is how to find her when we get scant sightings, always along the borderlands?"

There was silence in Bag End's dining room for a long moment.

"The Dunedain will go on a scout and scour campaign," Halden said. "If we can agree to let them pursue into Ered Luin."

"I agree," Kili seconded. "And Blue Mountains can reinforce the western shoreline. I can even send our best cave hunters to you if that would help."

Merry and Pippin turned to him, not understanding.

"Lads who excel at hunting underground vermin." Kili said, his face stern.

Merry and Pippin considered and nodded, gripping their mugs as if ready to fight now.

"The elves," Elladan added. "Can send trackers who know what to look for."

Sam, who seemed to understand that such a mission was really no place for Shire lads, looked from Kili to Elladan and Halden.

"How can we help?" he asked.

"Send us supplies," Halden smiled.

"Bread, meat, and ale," Kili clarified. "We can add the cost to Khelethur's accounts."

"Not for this," Pippin said. "This is for Aragorn."

All three hobbits nodded.

"And…" Kili began, as if reluctant. He looked at Halden steadily. "I think I can loan you a few ravens for reconnaissance and communication."

Halden's eyebrows raised. "That would help tremendously! But…do you have any that speak Westron?"

Kili smiled. "No…but I have one very promising young warrior I can assign to you…"

"Not Kirin," Pippin looked askance. Obviously he thought Kili's firstborn lad hardly old enough to ride with the Dunedain.

Kili shook his head. "No, not Kirin of course. Gunnar," he said. "Fili's lad."

Halden's eyes widened. "I didn't know he was in the Blue Mountains," he said.

"These past five years," Kili said. "Training. He's right fierce with a poleaxe and handles ravens as good as any of us." He referred to the special talent of Durin's descendants to speak with Erebor ravens, including the only flock outside Erebor-the ones Kili had brought along when he accepted Ered Luin's crown fourteen years ago.

Elladan smiled at this advantage and bowed to his friends, hand on heart. "Then it is decided," he said. "We will do this together."

"Agreed. Let us all lend our aid to the hunt for Shadbak," Kili raised his mug. "And the restoration of Arnor."

Sam agreed. He stood and raised his tankard and the others followed. "To Arnor!"

* * *

Two weeks later, Kili, King of Ered Luin, held his breath.

Next to him, his firstborn lad Kirin, thirteen years old and wearing a new set of leathers, drew his bow string and loosed his arrow.

With a quiet _whump_ he skewered his prey, sending the arrow straight into the rodent's eye.

"Good shot, Kirin," Kili said in a low voice, echoing the firm approval he'd received from his own teachers.

And Mahal knew the lad was hell on rock rats.

Behind them, young Sorin jumped up and cheered, promptly caught the toe of his boot on his own heel, and crashed into his father's knee.

"Steady now," Kili laughed. Three years younger than Kirin, young Sorin trailed his brother everywhere and spent most of his time tripping over his boots and picking himself up…his feet being at that awkward stage of being far too large for his height.

Prince Kirin was certainly Kili's son...but he had his mother Nyr's serious, avid curiosity. He also showed an easy control of his movements that boded well for sword work on par with the formidable Thorin Oakenshield. Kirin was obedient and would put his mind on achieving everything put before him, but he was easily crushed by any hint of disapproval from his parents.

Kili had to be careful not to glower at the lad.

Sorin, on the other hand, had Kili's brown eyes, a penchant for testing everyone's limits, and was prone to leaping ahead without a care for danger. Sorin was also impervious to disapproval. He almost dared Kili to deliver consequences for inappropriate actions. Luckily, his over-sized feet would trip him up before Kili or his Chief of Staff, Commander Skirfir, had to intervene.

Kili observed his fun-loving second son with much chagrin, knowing full well who the lad had inherited THOSE traits from.

Yet he loved them both unconditionally, and the one thing Kili insisted upon above all else was unfailing respect for their Lady Mother and indeed every lass. In this, he set the example and expected—even demanded—they follow suit.

Because of course now they had a new little sister.

Just six months old, Lís was her grandmother's namesake and so far completely unlike either of her brothers. Kili proudly swore that her sword grip was already stronger than Kirin's had been at that age.

A kingship, a lady wife, and three thriving young dwarrows.

Kili couldn't help feeling blessed by Aüle.

Then he sobered. Tomorrow he would travel to Wardspire, to his nephew. He would go alone, and he would go with a King's resolve.

Because Gunnar had been mourning long enough.

.

.

* * *

 **A/N** Welcome to my new story after a bit of a hiatus. The inspiration for this comes from RoTK, appendices, entry for "SR 1436 - King Elessar rides north. and dwells for a while by Lake Evendim. He comes to the Brandywine Bridge, and there greets his friends. He gives the Star of the Dúnedain to Master Samwise, and Elanor is made a maid of honour to Queen Arwen." Blend that with the characters from my Erebor 3022 stories, and here we are!

Welcome aboard! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Note on dwarrow ages: Kirin is 13 actual years old and we know that dwarves age more slowly than men...but Tolkien never defines how much slowly. The sources I've consulted seem to agree that they grow to young adulthood fairly quickly, but like hobbits have a longer young adulthood before "coming of age." Think of 13 year old Kirin as similar to an 8 or 9 year old human...Sorin would be more like a 5 or 6 year old human. Gunnar (or Gunz) is older-more similar to a 17-18 year old human. :D

Note on dates: the Erebor 3022 title was based on dwarven date reckoning taken into account that dwarves would have been slow to change-and that the story actually start BEFORE they know that Gandalf, Galadriel, Frodo, and Elrond have taken the ship west-which is the true beginning of the Fourth Age. So yes, I know that technically 3022 is not a Fourth Age date. It's my AU.

For this story, I'm using Shire Reckoning since that's how Tolkien identified the Lake Evendim event in the appendice.

Finally, a shout-out to my fabulous beta-reader, Jessie152. Thanks, mellon! And another hand on heart to TOWG for the detailed notes! Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kili, King of the Blue Mountains, climbed to Wardspire by himself: just one dwarf in travel-worn gear with a bow on his back and a climbing staff in his hand. Since the meeting at Bag End two weeks ago, he'd put many plans in motion, but this one thing he needed to do alone.

Or nearly alone. The raven Corax, ever his companion, flew at a distance, his flightpath erratic in the gusting winds. But Kili trusted the big corvid to watch over the rugged terrain while he focused on putting one foot ahead of the other. The thin trail wove in and out of mist-laden clouds, traversing ice, then stretches of granite where thin sheets of snowmelt seeped ever downward, then loose alpine soil.

He climbed on, seeking Wardspire—the stonespellers' haven…one of the oldest dwarf places in Ered Luin. It was a deep cavern in the upper reaches of the Blue Mountains marked by the unreachable spire of stone which stood sentinel from the mountain top across the valley. The haven itself sat on the west facing side of an unremarkable ridge.

It was the _view_ of the spire, not the spire itself, that gave the place its name.

And Kili, descendant of both Durin and Telchar, felt an uneasiness in his heart when he entered this part of the Blue Mountains. He could sense the timeless magic of this place like a low hum in his chest. It was not a place of dark evil, he reflected. But his experience, having survived a morgul curse and a dragon spirit, warned him that tapping the old magics always resulted in a mixed outcome...whatever benefit there might be always had a downside.

Wardspire itself was a good example. If the old tales were true, it had once been part of Nogrod, home of the stonemaster dwarves known as the _Gonnhirrim,_ so-named by the Sindar.

And it had been the birthplace of his father's forefather, Telchar, the greatest smith in history.

In this place, a silmaril had once been crafted into a stunningly beautiful necklace that had then created treachery between dwarves and elves. In this place, Telchar forged the magic knife Angrist, the sword Narsil, and the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin. The first two were accounted for. The third was said to be lost beneath the great wave that sank the ancient land of Beleriand.

Kili walked steadily, deep in thought, eyes on his path. If the decision had been his, Kili would not have sent his nephew here for training. The old magics had a way of...changing a fellow.

But the decision was not his—it was his brother Fili's choice. In fact, their lady mother, Dís, daughter of Durin and exile of Erebor, had studied here for a short while. He still carried a promise stone she herself had crafted for him. And Fili had also studied with Wardspire Masons who had come to Erebor in those first years after the dragon.

The sound of the trail crunching under his boots signaled a shift from stone to gravel. Kili looked up. He had reached the half-moon plateau near the ridge's crest and he scanned the horizon. A gust of wind blew his hair back. Wispy clouds whisked by on the updraft, obscuring the view across the vale. And then they passed and there it was—the Wardspire, standing like a black tusk across the valley to his left.

This was the place.

He followed the light track that curved to the right. He saw the first stone cairn after a few hundred steps: an improbable stack of rocks, one atop another, that looked curiously unstable yet never moved.

By the time the little trail curved around to the north, the left hand slope was littered with stacked stone cairns, from tall and bold to tiny and delicate, and every size between.

He smiled. There was a trick his mother used to play on his uncle, even when he and Fili had been dwarrows in houseboots. Stone mage dwarves could conceal themselves among rocks and be as un-noticed as hobbits hiding from Big Folk.

Kili stopped, rested both hands on top of his walking staff, and focused his eyes on the pillars of stacked stone. He saw no one. He leaned a little to the left and focused on the stone edges, looking for the outline of an arm or a stray whiff of smoke.

There. That stack of stones with the horn-like shape that echoed the spire across the vale.

"Come lad, my old eyes aren't as sharp as they once were," he said, raising his voice only a little.

"Forgive me, uncle," came the reply and there—from the stack just to the left of the spire-copy—rose the dusty-backed form of a sunny-haired stripling dwarf thin with youth, but who stood full height. Among the stone stacks came several other youth and two or three revered elders.

Corax swooped past quorking in the raven equivalent of a merry laugh. _Sun lad! Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Sun lad!_

"My lord king," the stripling with the sunny-gold hair murmured, hand on heart as he bowed deeply. "Gunnar, son of Fili…at your service."

Behind him, the others bowed as well.

Kili replied with his own hand on heart and took in the sight of his nephew. "Well met, my brother-son," he said and opened his arms.

* * *

Fili, King of Erebor, spent every evening ravenspeaking. Erebor's intrepid corvids were incessant gossips, but one learned many things by attending to them.

But once the sun had set, the ravens settled to roost.

Fili nodded to the guards at the western gate and walked with purpose to his quarters, though his steps were heavier and less springy than they had once been.

It had been eight years. He had lost his beloved Lady Wife eight years ago to a sudden seizure that had taken her quickly in her sleep. He could not save her by any battle skill he possessed or even say a final farewell. He could only hold her senseless body as the physicians shook their heads and her spirit faded from the world.

 _He had lost count of how many days he'd spent in numbness, as if submerged and slowly drowning in deep water that not even his children could penetrate._

 _Until the moment when the hand of his own brother had grasped his and pulled him up._

 _Kili...he had said in a wavering voice and his brother's arms wrapped around him. She is gone._

 _There had been no other words but his brother's steady presence as all his grief overcame him like a sudden avalanche._

 _And then the state funeral that duty demanded and the beginning of idrêth._

"Sir!"

The guard to his personal entry stood tall, eyes forward.

Fili looked at him, his expression still to hide the tenor of his memories. He nodded, hand on heart, and ducked into the short passage to his quarters.

He had mourned An for a full seven years, as was customary. A year ago he had reluctantly returned to his royal vestment colors, removed the strands of black cord from his braids, and traded the onyx _idrêth_ beads for silver.

After all, she would never approve of him ignoring his Kingdom or neglecting their children.

So life went on...it just went on differently. It went on even though he could no longer see her or touch her...or hear her beautiful voice. And Fili focused on work and insisted his children do the same.

One kingly hand on the stonework unlocked the door to his private chamber and Fili stepped inside. The private family area had once been chaotic and happy. Now it was...he refused to consider _lonely_. He decided on _well-ordered and calming._

That was Iri's doing. She seemed determined that no one would disturb his peace.

He sighed and took himself to his dressing room to wash up. He had promised his evening to Iri, actually. He just needed a quick clean-up and a change of coat.

Well-ordered and calming was all well and good, he reflected as he washed and dried his hands. And he loved his daughters dearly, but he missed his lads.

 _And my brother._

His oldest and heir Fjalar was away, commanding the western outpost this year—using his mother's Iron Hills heritage to keep the peace with their eastern cousins as commerce between the Mountain and the Hills reached new highs.

Gunnar remained in Ered Luin studying stonework, following in the footsteps of his grandmother Dís.

Hannar, his third lad, was in the Mountain somewhere, completely immersed in his apprenticeship with the Master Smith. The lad was not only a fine metalworker, he was becoming the maker of excellent swords. In a few more years he would be exceeding their Uncle's famously fine work.

That left him with only daughters in the family quarters. Jari, of course, warmed his heart. Just one year younger than his brother's firstborn, Kirin, she was everyone's delight. She had just started her formal studies in Erebor's student academy and could sing along with his fiddle nearly as well as her mother had.

It was Iri who managed the family quarters in her mother's place, bossing his chamberlains and her little sister's nannies in equal measure. She had just completed her academy studies and was continuing with an advanced tutor. He knew deep in his heart that someday there would be lads lining up to capture her heart and take her away from him—but he refused to consider it yet. A daughter of Durin...she was a rarity they would fight over. But for now, she belonged here.

And how he would keep himself from skewering any lad who looked at her _that way_ , he had no idea.

Then he grinned. She was more likely to skewer any such lad herself. By tradition, her Choice of a lad would be the final word. She was a wicked fast shieldmaiden, his Iri. He wondered if she would even need her old Da's support against the rejected ones. But while she spent her days honing her swordwork, her nights were spent learning to chart the moon—in the Dwarven traditions, naturally. Elves of course had completely different names for everything in the sky. To dwarves, the night sky wasn't about stars and music and poetry...it was about marking the patterns of the moon, about calculations and wayfinding.

Less than an hour later, Fili had cleaned up, eaten a bite of supper, and climbed an inner stairway to the eastern slope of the Mountain.

When he stepped through the door—the very door (once hidden) that his Uncle had re-opened back in the Dragon time—he found the familiar neat parapet open to the eastern sky, now cleanly set with flagstones, granite table and benches, and a masterfully carved bas relief of Thorin Oakenshield finding the Hidden Door, complete with a halfling and rays of moonlight arrowing to the now fully visible keyhole.

"Da!" Iri was in his arms before he could take three steps out.

He hugged her close, smiling at the scent of clean slate and fine leather. She stepped back, her large blue eyes (much like his own) wide with excitement. Her golden hair (also much like his at that age) was always changing style these days. Sometimes it was even different between morning and night and with every change of clothes. This morning she'd had strands of warrior braids at the sides and a blue sparring vest with trousers. Tonight: it fell loose around her shoulders with only one loose braid crossing above her forehead, looking much like a golden coronet...and a soft tunic gown the color of mountain foxglove.

"Ah, Princess," he murmured to her, cupping her jaw and smiling. "Tell me what you're up to tonight."

She nodded, very serious.

"Father," she began in her most formal voice. "You remember Urszaglêl?" Fili looked at the lady dwarf who quickly bowed to him.

"Yes. My good lady Zêl." He reached both hands out to her and quite shyly, she took them. Her dark, serious eyes met his without shyness. She was Iri's personal guard and tutor in Moon charting, and was as he'd always seen her—sober, strong, and artfully adorned with two thick braids that fell from behind her ears, twined with leather and beads.

She was the daughter of an old Erebor family that An had known well. The lass was remarkably fierce with long knives and an accomplished mountain archer as well.

"You will not believe," Iri said, her smile and eyes alight with excitement. "I've been calculating _marark_ cycles...and last week I realized…" she paused to pick up a slate to show him her numbers and symbols.

"An eclipse!" Fili said. "Tonight?"

"Zêl double checked my figures," Iri looked at the slate again. "If I'm right, it should be a full eclipse, beginning just as the moon rises in just a little while. Will you watch with me?"

"Of course I will," he smiled. And her quick, happy grin was all the reward he required.

The mugs of ale that Zêl brought to them were simply the icing on the cake.

Together, the three of them turned their eyes to the eastern sky and watched as the silver moon rose above the horizon, and as Iri predicted, first an edge, then a full bite of the silver moon darkened...and within an hour the fully eclipsed moon turned blood red in night sky above Erebor.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: THANK you for reading and for the reviews you've posted or PM'd! I've been a little overwhelmed at the response to the first chapter-waving HI to many old friends...good to see you again, and welcome aboard to anyone who is new to my stories! Glad to meet you! While this is a new standalone story, having the background from my previous Erebor 3022 stories certainly helps. Feel free to read them...and if you by chance prefer to read in Deutsch, those six stories are also complete on fanfiktion dot de in German, thanks to the translation magic of Beta reader Jessie152. So happy to be writing here again and continuing this story! Hope you enjoy the journey...and as a final note, I do have a very full time job and lots on my plate. My goal is post bi-weekly...(except when not. In case work stuff just gets cray.)

Hand on heart to all of you!

Summer

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Neo-Khuzdul translations, thanks to The Dwarrow Scholar's English / Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary (find it online.)

.

Idrêth = mourning (the act of)

Marark (mararkulnûlukh) = lunar eclipse (I made an editorial choice to shorten the full word)

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The inspiration for Wardspire is a favorite spot of mine: Black Tusk near Whistler BC, Canada. If you are on Mt. Whistler in the summer, you will see thousands of rock cairns left by travelers :D with Black Tusk in the background. Google Images also has a few shots.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam, Mayor of Hobbiton, opened the mailbox in front of Bag End and pulled out a thick sheaf of letters, so many that corners caught on the edge of the opening and three were inadvertently left behind, requiring the use his other hand to reach in and scoop them up.

He bent, looking inside with one eye to see if any had been left behind.

"Hello…" he said, reaching in for one last small, pumpkin-colored envelope addressed to his daughter Elanor. Then he nudged the little door closed and stood back to put the sheaf of paper into some order.

"And a good stack of work this will be," he observed out loud. After a little more shuffling, he tucked the letters under his elbow and looked up. The Shire in early November was a wonder of red and orange leaves. The morning air carried the pleasant scent of second-breakfast cookfires, and in the gardens below Bag End, he could see the many-colored hats of hobbit lads and lasses harvesting summer squashes and string beans.

He'd just been to his own garden, as a matter of fact, and as he turned to the round front door of the beautiful hobbit hole he called home, Sam stooped to grab the handle of Rosie's kitchen basket, freshly full of green beans, autumn shallots, and some fine red potatoes. Hands full, he shouldered his way through the door.

Rosie and the children were out at the morning market, and Bag End was unusually quiet.

For once.

 _This won't last for long_ , he thought, setting the garden basket on the kitchen table, dropping Elanor's pumpkin-colored letter (it was from young Salvia Marish, likely an invitation) into the cherrywood box in the hall, and then took himself to the study. He further sorted the letters as he went, absently sitting in his new chair (a gift from Pippin) and set a batch of "wait until later" letters aside as he continued sorting.

One plain letter was addressed simply to "Mayor, Hobbiton" from _Leufroy Frogbank, Esq., Crickhall_.

"Mr. Frogbank, is it?" he said aloud, quickly setting all the other envelopes on the desk with the others and nudging the whole pile aside to clear his blotter.

This letter, of course, was the most important one disguised as if it were the least important one.

Leufroy Frogbank from Crickhall (all completely fictitious) was the name any member of the freshly formed Annuminas Alliance would use in order to send news to him.

Sam popped the seal (from Merry, based on the barrel-stave imprint on the wax seal: barrel meant _brandy..._ or Brandybuck) and quickly read the short note.

It began with a normal Shire-like complaint.

 _Dear Mayor:_

 _I write to ask why the potholes on the road to Waymeet have been left unattended these past months. As a contributor toward the Sand and Shovel wagon, I am pointing out your abysmal neglect in this matter of utmost importance. I demand an explanation._

This was drivel, of course. Sam ignored it.

 _As such, I request your attendance at my next neighborhood dinner meeting, 18 February at the haybarn. Our most important neighbors will be there: the Oldburrowes, a few of the Lightfoots, and several Farhills._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Leufroy Frogbank, Esq._

 _Crickhall_

Sam took a deep breath. This meant there was news about the hunt for Shadowback and if he wanted to hear it, he needed to be at Little Delving (code word: the haybarn) on the 8th of November. (Subtract ten from any date, subtract three from any month.) Dwarves (Oldburrowes) would be there, along with elves (Lightfoots) and several of the Dunedain (Farhills.)

He flipped the letter over, looking for Merry's secret mark (to prove it was really from Merry Brandybuck himself) and found a small inky fingerprint smeared across one of the corners, as if the writer had been just a bit careless in his letter writing.

Sam smiled and took the letter and its envelope to the study's little fireplace, and holding it near the embers of his morning fire, let it flame and burn to ash.

He looked up and checked his calendar. It was the third of November.

And in five days he would meet the Alliance members in Little Delving.

* * *

 _She was an old thing, though not as old as some. But she could still walk. Walk for miles, walk for days. Walk all the time. Walk for the fight. A good fight...a good fight with head-knocking and cleaver-hacking. A sneaky fight in the dark. Sneaky…. In the dark with hiding places and surprises ...and sssnakes._

 _And the Uhdbosh. She remembered this…broken shards now but still very deadly. Very. It drew her...to a place where she would find it. It drew her…_

 _The place would appear in moonlight...it would appear eight hands past the red eaten moon but deep below the ruined place._

 _Last night had been the red moon. Last night the moon had been eaten...and turned blood red. Last night started eight hands past the red moon. Eight hands past._

 _Eight hands...every hand has five fingers and eight hands have forty fingers. She had been repeating that to herself since the days when she hatched fellbeasts for the old witch-king. Eight hands have forty fingers._

 _Unless something has bitten three of them off, she gurgled out loud._

 _Unless something has bitten three of them off..._

* * *

Kirin, young Prince of the Blue Mountains, didn't take afternoon naps anymore. Baby Lís did.

And Sorin did after his reading lessons.

But he did not. _He_ helped his mother tend the ravens. Two of them were hopping along at his side right now, in fact.

"More nuts?" he asked, reaching into a little sack and dropping a handful of hard-shelled almonds and stepping away.

The bright-eyed birds darted forward and each lifted brown nuts in their beaks. One flew about ten feet away...but the other held the nut and looked at Kirin, angling his head and then bobbing. This one had just spent quite a while on his mother's hand before she had nudged him toward Kirin.

"I think your name is Raka," Kirin said to it. "You have a charm stone." He could see it from where he stood—a light ring threaded by a tiny stone around the raven's left ankle. He watched Raka crack the shell and pick out the nut.

"Give him as many nuts as he'll want," his Lady Mother had said. Kirin tossed a few more for the raven to consider.

While Raka beaked the hard-shelled nut, Kirin looked back at his mother. She was the most beautiful Lady in all of Ered Luin...and she always wore soft robes and a single long black braid threaded with beads and silk...sometimes leather. She held out her arm to a new raven and around her, five other ravens muttered and hopped along the railing, changing positions all the time.

He wanted to understand them just like she could, he really did. But he only heard them say _quorkkkk_ and _hah_. Sometimes they muttered...but nothing that ever made sense to him.

A sharp squawk made Kirin look back at Raka. The raven had not managed to crack the next almond, but picked it up, looked at Kirin for a moment, then launched himself and flew high over the nearby trees. He swooped over the ravenspeaking area and then dropped the nut. He arrowed down to it, his beak busy—this time opening the broken shell and proudly picking out the food inside.

Then a flap of wings near his head made Kirin take a step back as another very large and sharp-beaked raven landed on the railing next to him. This one also had a charm stone on his ankle—a clear blue one that caught the light.

"Corax!" Kirin stood tall and faced the big bird that landed on the railing.

With clacking feet, his father's raven hopped twice and stopped not two handspans from his face. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then the raven leaned closer as if to touch his nose.

Kirin blinked and took a step back.

The raven was muttering and cocking its head.

"That's enough Corax," his mother's hand came between them and Kirin looked up at her.

"He's not old enough for ravenspeaking yet," she told the curious bird.

Corax hopped once, raising his wings, then muttered some more as if wondering why not.

Kirin heard his mother laugh and then with the wave of her hand, shooed the bird back a few steps.

"What's he saying?" he asked. "Is Da almost home?"

His mother smiled. "In time for dinner," she said.

"Corax," she addressed the raven. "Fly to Raven King. Show us where he is."

Kirin watched the large bird listening to his mother, wondering how it understood her words. Sure enough, Corax looked up as if spotting the sun, then launched himself into the sky with a loud call.

"Will he do it?" Kirin asked.

"Just watch," his mother said.

Kirin kept his eyes on the bird. Corax flew in a wide circle above them, gaining height. Then he headed north over the pine forest, toward the tall granite cliffs that rose behind Khelethur's great stone and wood lodge. Kirin lost sight of the raven for a moment, then spotted him again gliding toward the distant streaming waterfall called The Horsetail.

"He's on that path," Kirin guessed, pointed to the slanting line of trees that zig-zagged down from the heights above the falls.

His mother shaded her eyes and watched as the raven, now a tiny speck, caught an upsweep of wind and soared higher. "Corax said there are two dwarves and four ponies on their way. He's circling the upper switchbacks, so I think they've just started the descent."

Kirin pointed. "There?"

"I think so."

He caught his breath. His father would be home soon! "Can I alert the house guards?"

"Let's do it together," his mother smiled.

He grabbed her hand and tugged a bit, turning her toward the lodge. But by the time he was inside at the Commander's desk, Kirin slowed down and was mindful to stand straight at his mother's side.

"Lady Nÿr," a young short-bearded dwarf inclined his head to his mother, then smiled at him.

Kirin bowed in formal respect. "Commander Skirfir," he said.

"Prince Kirin," the Commander inclined his head, hand on heart.

"The ravens report that my father approaches on the Northern trail." Kirin glanced at his mother, then went on. "He should be here by dinnertime," he added.

The commander turned briefly to give word to an assistant who nodded once and turned to put plans in motion.

"Thank you, Kirin. Will you ride with us to the Valley Gate?"

Kirin looked at his mother for permission.

"Your choice, Kirin," she said.

"Can Sorin come with me?" he asked. It was always more fun with his brother, even if Sorin tripped over everything.

"If he rides with you," she said. "You have to keep track of him."

Kirin made a quick bow to Skirfir, grinned at his mother, and ran to get his brother. This time of day, Sorin would be in the library with his reading tutor...and he knew his brother would be more than ready for the chance to end his lesson early.

His boots echoed on the polished floor as he raced across the wide Great Room for an arched hallway that led to his father's reception rooms. He slowed his steps a little bit as he made it to the third alcove on the left, and he could hear his brother's voice reading a familiar teaching story in a halting voice.

"...and then Mostgon...Mosgonter," Sorin struggled with sounding out a name as he read.

"Mogsotnir," old Onar corrected in a quiet voice.

"Sorin!" Kirin skidded into the library, saving his brother from the task. He stopped, hand on heart. "Master Onar," he bowed.

Sorin, sitting at a large oak table with the grey-bearded Master Onar hovering over him, stopped reading and looked up, eyes wide with hopefulness that something—anything—would save him from _The Trouble with Mogsotnir's Mine._

"Get your coat!" Kirin said to his brother. "We ride with Skirfir…"

Sorin instantly abandoned the heavy teaching book on the library table and slid out of the big chair before old Onar could catch him. Predictably, he stumbled to his knees before scrambling up and joining Kirin.

Together they ran.

"We'll continue this—tomorrow…!" They heard Onar's voice trailing off as they sprinted for the cloakroom. Kirin shrugged into his travel coat quickly, but turned to see Sorin wrestling with his—one arm in and the other one trying to find the sleeve...he grabbed the shoulders of the coat and held it for his brother.

"Hurry up!"

"Where are we going?" Sorin asked, his arm finally snaking into the sleeve.

"It's Da! Coming down the Horsetail Switchbacks. We can go with Skirf to meet him at the Valley Gate."

"In a pony cart?"

Kirin cinched the leather belt on his brother's coat. "On Swish, you idiot."

Sorin's eyes sparkled. "I ride with _you!"_

Kirin grinned. "Nadad...nadadith!" They bumped elbows and took off, heading for the stables.

They found Commander Skirfir and five other Guards with several ponies lined up and saddled, ready to ride. Skirfir was leading Swish to the line behind his own mount, and Kirin saw his buckskin pony was already set up with a light tandem saddle.

"Kirin first," Skirf said, holding the pony's reins while Kirin first greeted Swish and patted his nose, then went to the pony's correct side, got his boot into the stirrup, and pushed himself into the saddle.

"Good lad," Skirfir said, handing over the reins. Then he stooped and lifted Sorin, settling him on the pad behind Kirin. "Knees here," he said, helping Sorin get settled.

"And no kicking." Kirin warned his brother. "Or I'll make you walk."

"Or worse," Skirfir added, lowering his voice. "We'll make you ride with Raeg."

Kirin looked left, eyes spotting the plump warrior lass with the scary hair and the iron-clad gloves. She could smack a lad faster than anyone...and he knew from experience that their mother would approve.

"I won't kick," Sorin was promising in his most innocent voice.

"Good lads. Let's go find your Da!" Skirf raised an arm and the rest of the small escort mounted and readied themselves.

Three hours later, Kirin still rode behind Skirf with Sorin on the saddle behind him, though his little brother's head rested heavily on Kirin's back. They had ridden through shady conifer forest and across two sunlit meadows. Now he heard the rushing water of the Horsetail Stream ahead, sounding much like a steady wind blowing through the pines.

Kirin elbowed his brother.

"Are we there?" Sorin asked, sounding sleepy.

"Almost. We're at the river."

He felt Sorin clutch harder at his belt and squirm. "Do I have to ride with Skirf now?" he asked. Usually Sorin was handed to Skirf when the trail got tricky.

"I think," Skirfir said, turning to wink at Kirin. "That you can ride with your big brother." He clucked his pony and trotted forward, entering the stream as if showing the way.

Kirin felt a stab of alarm that Skirf was letting him ride across without even a lead line.

With his _nadadith_ on his saddle!

He looked at the rushing water. They played in this stream sometimes—Kirin knew the water was shallow, but it was also icy cold and swift. Last summer it had carried Sorin a hundred paces away before a guard stopped him from getting swept downstream.

But they weren't here to play. They were here to follow Skirf to the other side, and behind them, several other guards waited for their turn.

"Hold on, Sorin," he said in a stern voice. "And stay still."

He felt Sorin grip his belt and freeze into position against his back. Then, taking a breath, Kirin clucked Swish forward into the uncertain footing of the coldwater stream.

.

.

* * *

 _A/N Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you think! Your feedback helps keep me writing. And thank you to everyone who's taken a moment to leave a note-plus Welcome Aboard to new followers! Hand on Heart to you!_

 _I'm posting this story as I write it...so apologies for the week or two between chapters. I do have a full time career, so sometimes that takes my time even when I'd RATHER be writing. I do hope to post one more chapter next week...then I'm off to London to meet up with Jessie152 and see (drumroll) Aidan Turner in his play "The Lieutenant of Inishmore" AND THEN Sir Ian McKellan as King Lear. Feeling pretty lucky...! I'm sure there will be some good story inspiration in all that. :D_

 _._

 _Neo-Khuzdul (and other) words:_

 _Nadad - big brother_

 _Nadadith -_ little brother

 _Uhdbosh: Like all orc words, we have no idea_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Kili, King of Ered Luin, was on foot as he led two ponies and his brother's son down the steep trail near horsetail falls when a trio of ravens suddenly burst from the trees repeating a loud message.

 _Lads! Lads! Lads!_

Kili smiled. This was how they'd began referencing his two dwarrow sons...his incredible luck at finding his one lady love and then having two lads and one lass of his own amazed to him even to this day.

Skirf has brought the lads out to the spring to meet us, he guessed. The ravens wouldn't be this excited unless they were close.

 _In a tree…_ One of the ravens called in an echoing voice. _In a treeeee…_

The trail leveled off and Gunz stepped up to take the lead of the second pony. "Are they suggesting an ambush?" he asked of the ravens, his sharp eyes scanning the pines around them.

"Of a sort," Kili smiled and lowered his voice to a whisper. ""But you'll have to play along." He winked at his nephew, blond and blue eyed and now so much like a younger version of his own brother that Kili's heart sometimes lurched. Fili… Far away in Erebor, of course. And Fili was now heavier, both in stature and in mind.

Gunz looked blankly at him for a moment, then smiled quickly and looked away as if completely unaware of any impending action. "Got it," he said to Kili, relaxing.

Being a prince himself, Gunz understood the games that young lads liked to play with their royal fathers. And that quirky grin was all Gunz. Fili had always been far more stoic.

Kili nodded at his nephew, then hooked a safety loop over the hilt of his belt knife and saw Gunz do the same. He knew his lads would try for the knives and while Kili allowed them practice weapons, letting them get hold of his real fighting blades was another thing.

And then he looked up sharply as Gunz let out a loud "ooof" and ambush arrived in the form of a clumsy dark-haired lad who quite possibly hadn't really _meant_ to fall on his cousin's head, since his fierce battle cry only came out _after_ he realized his cousin had broken his fall.

Gunz released the mildly surprised pony's lead line, then pretended as though the "fall" was a battle tactic and fell sideways.

"Uncle!" He shouted, just as a pinecone smacked Kili's left bicep. "Wildings! Help!"

Kili's hands went for his bow (but not an arrow) and he stopped as if unsure where to aim. "Where? Left or right?"

Gunz was busy rolling, preventing the small lad in his arms from landing a punch. "Overhead!" he called out.

In a flash, Kili shouldered his bow and jumped for a low tree branch, managing to grab the foot of the second lad. He was back on the ground with his older son held upside down by the boot before the lads could respond.

Gunz, guessing the next move, let the smaller lad go.

Sure enough, brother went to brother's defense and Kili found his right hip under attack by Sorin's small (but mighty) fists as he held Kirin out at arm's length.

Sorin managed to hook one hand over Kili's elbow and add his weight to the arm holding Kirin, and Kili laughed, letting them all collapse into a heap.

Gunz calmly dusted himself off and gathered the ponies' lead lines, making sure the sturdy pack animals weren't completely shocked by the sight of dwarves rolling in the dust.

"Da!" Both lads happy voices filled the air, trying hold their father down while making sure they each got a fatherly arm for welcome home hugs.

Kili had them both in a bear hug, threatening to skin one and feed the other to his cubs when he saw Skirfir be the one to surprise Gunz-coming from behind him and slapping his shoulder.

"Welcome back to Khelethur, Prince Gunnar," Skirf said.

Gunz's eyes widened in recognition of his Uncle's _ushmar_ and gave way to smiles and hugs.

Then Skirf intervened in his lord King's ambush and held out a hand to Kili. "Enough, lads," he said to the boys in his commander's voice. "A King has to be dusted off before he joins his troops. Princes, too."

The lads rolled free and scrambled to their feet (it took Sorin three tries) and stood straight, patting the dust off their jackets (though not really getting any of it removed.) Kili accepted Skirf's hand and stood as well, reaching out to ruffle his lads' dark, unruly hair and pull them closer again for real hugs.

"I've missed you," he said in a low voice. "And here's your cousin Gunnar back from his studies."

Without prompting, Kirin and Sorin, suddenly aware of their princely duty, ran to their cousin, stopping a few feet away from him and standing side by side.

"Kirin," Kirin announced himself.

"And Sorin," Sorin added.

And they bowed together. "At your service."

Gunz grinned, put his hand on his heart, and bowed formally in turn. "Gunnar of Erebor, at yours and your family's."

* * *

Fili, King of Erebor, was the only ravenspeaker up at dawn. He went to the more private Western Terrace, and given that ravens were waiting there, he realized that his preference had become predictable.

In any case, he welcomed the fresh morning air, sharp and cool and arid this time of year. Erebor awaited the first snow, but snow-laden weather had not yet blown in from the west.

He was surprised, however, to see a crowd of ravens on the terrace—far more than the usual few.

This many messages?

His practiced eye judged the small flock as calm, so he felt certain there was nothing war-like in their news. So he deployed a sorting trick and started his raven duty by tossing seeds and nuts generously about the stone ledge. Most birds would go straight to the treats and help themselves.

Any bird with urgent news would forego the food for the chance to present itself first and deliver its message without the whole flock in the way.

Sure enough, one raven landed on a handrail to his left and let out a loud, demanding _quorrrrk_. It stood especially tall, as if feeling very important.

Fili smiled. The _treats first_ trick always worked.

"Good morning, friend. What brings you here?" Fili held up his forearm and the raven immediately hopped over.

 _Elf-king sends word._

Fili's brows came together. He and Thranduil had settled into peaceful relations...always a bit on the uneasy side, but Fili counted him as an ally. "Good bird," Fili said, holding the raven so they were eye-to-eye.

The raven stared and held itself still and very clearly vocalized, " _Car-Ithil aith y' lema."_

Fili blinked. His early morning brain struggled to translate what he recognized as elvish. _Red-moon marks a journey._ Fili tried to sort that. Clearly Thranduil had seen the eclipse.

"Thranduil is traveling?" Fili asked, unable to help keeping surprise from his voice. He hadn't seen that old elf outside of his woods since the year they'd ousted Smaug from the Mountain.

The raven remained still, then ruffled itself and went on. It continued to speak not as a natural raven, but as a raven compelled to recite a message in the sender's voice—a particular elvish spell Thranduil could weave.

"The moon shines full," the raven recited in elvish. "The moon shines full, the moon shines red...and portends death to many by next the moon is full again. A city forgotten two thousand years lies west...but what a King desires lies in shadow still. I send a messenger bearing an ancient scroll. This you must study to save your kin."

Fili was staring at the bird and was about to ask it to repeat the message when it shook itself and clacked three times as if clearing its head. Then it sharpened its beak on his gauntlet, looked around as if surprised to find itself in Erebor, and then launched itself toward the nuts.

Whatever spell Thranduil had cast on the bird had been broken once the words were delivered.

Hastily, Fili grabbed one of the slates kept at the ravenspeaker platform and made a cryptic note, in elvish, capturing the message while he could still recall it verbatim.

"Ravenmaster?" Fili called out while proofing his note. He always struggled with elvish.

"Aye, my lord?" The commander in charge of the raven area stepped forward.

"Send a message to the Gate. An envoy is arriving from our good king Thranduil," he said this last with just the barest of sarcasm. That "good King" had once tossed him in a dungeon after all. "Send me word when he arrives, and provided he has the correct tokens, ask for him to be given every courtesy and brought to my reception hall. I will meet him there."

The Ravenmaster bowed curtly and when Fili nodded his dismissal, turned to deliver the order.

"And one more thing," Fili added an afterthought. "Send for Iri and her tutor Zêl."

Fili set the slate aside and busied himself with the rest of the raven flock. The rest of the morning news was thankfully routine. A light flurry of snow fell on the peak in the early hours. A bar fight in Dale last night (no surprise there.) A new barge with good from Minas Tirith arrived from Laketown.

Fili felt a pang sadness. That was the sort of news that would have had An's attention.

Not for the first time, he missed her presence in his life.

He was standing on the ravenspeaker platform, considering the view down the western slope and reflecting on how many more years he would remain here when he heard one of the few voices that would turn his mind from those dark and heavy thoughts.

"Good morning, Da!" Iri took the steps up to the platform at speed and had her arms around him for a morning hug before he could fully turn around.

He held her tight a moment. She was nothing like her mother except in one aspect: she always smelled like fresh, clean stone.

He released her and smiled. This morning her yellow-gold hair was pulled back from her forehead in a complicated weave that ended in a top knot, with free-flowing curls falling down her back. She wore a topaz colored tunic embroidered with autumn ferns under her training leathers and trousers, along with her everyday boots.

"Good morning, Iri," he said, smiling at her. She did know how to brighten his day.

"I've brought Zêl along," she said, holding a hand out to her tutor, who had quite properly remained beside the ravenmaster a few feet away.

"Zêl!" Fili called out, making an effort to be cheerful. "Come on up, lass. I've a riddle for you."

Zêl made a quick hand-on-heart bow and, lifting her skirt, climbed the short stairway to the platform. When she arrived, Fili handed her the slate he'd written on.

"A raven brought this message from the Greenwood this morning." He left out the part about an elvish spell. Iri would recognize it, but by agreement, ravenspeakers kept this kind of knowledge to themselves.

"Thranduil is known to be prescient from time to time, though his Elvish is damned cryptic at best. Tell me, how do you interpret the first line?" Fili passed his slate to Iri and Zel.

Zel took the slate and studied Fíli's notes. As a scholar, he knew her Elvish was quite good and he watched her closely as Zel's eyes scanned his notes. Her expression, first only inquisitive, turned more and more into a deep frown. Eventually, one of her eyebrows slowly went up and he could see her opinion about elves in general and their abstruse prophecies clearly written across her face.

"And…?" Fíli asked.

'' _Cryptic_ … that's one way to put it…'' Zel muttered, eyes on the slate.

Then she looked up at Fíli. _Her_ hair, he noted, didn't change daily. It was always in two thick braids intertwined with cord.

"My Lord," Zêl stated openly and her eyebrow relaxed slightly. "You know that as a scholar I slightly disapprove any kind of elvish _ozrid_ when it comes to interpreting what we see in the nighttime sky ."

Fíli nodded. "I agree, my dear Zêl. But I always think twice when our neighbors send me something this foreboding."

"A lunar eclipse," Zêl went on. ''Is natural and has little impact on the events here on the ground. Yet as dwarves of Erebor we know the power of magic all too well." They looked at each other a moment. Fili nodded and Zêl went back to studying the slate. "And," she went on in a lower voice. "We all know that Thranduil can sense things creeping unseen in the wilds. Things we otherwise might not notice until it's too late.''

''So you think the elf is giving us a true warning?''

''Yes, I do, and I would suggest we take the warning seriously." She was looking at him with a level gaze. "The first line suggests calamity within a month. The next full moon is in twenty- seven days. But we might prevent this if we carefully study the scroll that the Elf-King is inclined to send us." She glared again. ''A scroll he has obviously possessed for quite a while…'' she grumbled quietly more to herself than to her King.

At the last words, Zêl's face showed a Durin-style glower and Fili saw his daughter put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Fíli nodded and smiled wryly. "Well," he conceded. "Elves and dwarves...always difficult."

Iri let herself smile, then stood closer to Zêl to see the slate. "And what is this part?" she asked. " _A city forgotten two thousand years lies west...but what a King desires lies in shadow still."_ She appeared to re-read it, her lips moving silently.

She looked up, first at Zêl, then her father. "What city lies west? There's nothing for leagues on leagues…"

Zêl went still. "Could he mean…" She went pale and whispered. "Khelethur?"

Iri frowned and looked again at the slate. "Ered Luin? Is that why it refers to _our kin?_ " she demanded.

Fili's face was stone still. His only brother Kili, yes, resided in Khelethur. And somewhere else in Ered Luin was the other source of his persistent grief.

Gunnar...who had not returned to him since his mother's passing.

"My Lord," the Ravenmaster called out. "Word from the Gate: the envoy had already arrived."

Fili looked up to see his daughter and her tutor looking at him with serious faces.

"You might as well come along," he said to them. "It's time to see what Thranduil has sent."

Ten minutes later Fili had shrugged into a royal robe and the three of them entered his Reception Room to find an elf standing still as a silver birch on a windless night.

* * *

King Kili and Queen Nÿr stood together on Khelethur's ravenspeaker parapet well into the sunny autumn morning. Kili held her close and they both looked up at the sound of fallen leaves skittering across the rooftop. The Khelethur Valley, deep between monoliths of solid granite, ran east to west. The sun had risen at the higher end, crested Greyhelm Rock and now soared overhead. It would set over the silver stream at the lower, western end.

"It feels good to be home," Kili said to her, glad for this moment of stillness with her head against his shoulder.

"It is good to have you home," she murmured. "But," she said, wrapping her arms tighter around him. "I have the feeling you will be off again by tomorrow."

Kili smiled. "You know me too well. Can you forgive me?"

Nÿr laughed. "Only if you tell me you are heading home again once Gunz is safely delivered to the Dunedain."

Kili considered how to answer that. In truth, he was undecided.

Nÿr pulled back and he could tell without looking that she had narrowed one eye at him. "You have to expect him do this on his own, Kili."

He looked at her, a little bit taken aback that her thoughts were more for Gunz than for him. Then he chided himself for thinking her only concern was him. Of course she managed many things as Queen of Ered Luin, most especially the royal children and this included their nephew Gunz.

"Your Uncle sent you off on assignments at that age," she said. "He was teaching you to trust your own abilities."

"He did not send us on _dangerous_ assignments. And he always sent us together," Kili replied. He and Fili were always given assignments as a pair, as he imagined they would do with his own lads. "Gunz is on his own, and this is no simple trading jaunt."

"We are in a new age, and Gunz will need to make his own friendships with his brother's allies."

"Yes," he conceded. She was right about that.

"And he will have ravens with him as you and Fili did not."

"Yes." Again, she was right.

She was quiet a moment. "What are you worried about?"

Kili took a moment to consider the feelings churning in his gut. Finally he answered.

"That Gunnar will stay in the wilderland and never return to Erebor."

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _Ozrid_ = magic (spell); hocus-pocus. (Thanks to the Dwarrow Scholar's English-Khuzdul Dictionary!)

.

A/N THANK you for waiting patiently for this chapter. I had a truly fabulous visit to London (flew over from the US west coast) and saw both Aidan Turner and Sir Ian McKellan in their West End plays...just fabulous, both of them. Saw Aidan outside the back door after the show signing autographs-so patient and kind to everyone. Bonus: saw Wee Thomas, his feline co-star, lol. Also took time to visit the ravens at the London Tower and made lots of notes on raven behavior.

Then I got home and it took me a week just to recover from jet lag and another to dig out from the pile of work that greeted me at my day job, lol.

Next trip is to the Middle Earth event at Solingen, Germany in May 2019. Looking forward to seeing MagiCon friends there! (But, not doing MagiCon. Just not the same as HobbitCon and RingCon.)

Finally, a shout-out to Jessie152 who is characterizing Zêl, the star-gazing tutor. :D High fives to Jessie! And a hand-on-heart shout out to TOWG for the fab edits. THANK you, mellyn!

Onward!

Summer


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gunnar, son of Fili, awoke to the sound of an alarm horn blowing. He leapt from the warm and comfy bed in the alcove that was "his" when visiting his uncle's private suite.

 _Khelethur...under attack?_ At least he knew where he was as he grabbed coat and boots. He cinched his belt and armed himself: knives, darts, axe.

He burst from his alcove ready to fight in the halls. But he didn't find a fight. He only found his aunt's assistant Embur hurrying past with several maids who carried his young cousins wrapped in their blankets.

"What is it?" he called to Embur.

"Orcs in Duillond. We're moving deeper underground with the Queen," she answered as her hands ushered the maids along. "Muster with Skirf." She pointed down the Royal Suite's central hall as she passed it but did not slow down.

Gunz didn't need more information. As Embur, the maids. and their sleepy charges disappeared down a stairway, Gunz dashed to the muster and found his uncle in battle gear, strapping on his sword.

Gunz bowed his head, the hand over his heart clenching a knife hilt. It was a gesture old Dwalin had taught him, a quick and silent pledge from Prince to King that said _I fight for you._

"Good, you're armed," his uncle said. "Stay with me." And then they were off—Ered Luin's King and his Royal Guard wasted no time in transiting from the King's quarters to the Great Hall, and then down a long, wide flight of stone stairs. Gunz jogged with them, thinking through what he remembered of the underground route to the settlement on the plain north of the Blue Mountains.

As he went, he concentrated with half-lidded eyes. Did Khelethur have anything to say? He could feel the old and deeply spelled stone, but Gunz felt no threat near the King's Halls.

"This stone is quiet," he said to his uncle as they reached a landing, rounded a turn, and started down another broad stairway. If there were orcs anywhere in the mountains proper, Gunz would hear the rock complaining.

His uncle spared him a glowering glance and a single nod. "Good to know our halls are safe."

"How far off can you sense an orc?" Skirf asked as they charged across a landing.

Gunz considered. It was an unpredictable art, stone sensing. It was changeable and seemed to him that the rock _chose_ whether to say anything. Or rather, the ancient spells chose.

"I can't sense them at all," he said as they continued the descent into Khelethur's depths. "It's just the stone I can feel...there's nothing disturbing it this side of the Eastway."

"Good," his uncle said. "Speak up, lad," he said, "If that changes."

"Yes, sir," Gunz replied, understanding that their roles had shifted from fun-loving uncle and nephew to war-ready King and prince-from-another-kingdom. Gunz knew he was a soldier now. And the good people of Ered Luin deserved to be defended, especially from rag-tag orc-kind.

 _Is this where I belong?_ He wondered as he went, keeping pace with the Ered Luin guard as the great stairway bottomed out and the King's escort turned down a long passage. _Do I belong with my uncle?_ It would do, even though they both knew his heart ached for his father. It kept his mind busy as they passed through the northern gate and charged down the steep road from Khelethur's back door to the village of Duillond.

 _Da._

But his father was far away...both in the distance to Erebor and in the chasm created by grief. Gunz could not forgive himself. He had not known what to do...he had not been there that night. He'd been on duty in the new western outpost. By the time he reached the family quarters, his mother was gone and his father...he'd been completely unable to reach him. The memory of it haunted him in dark dreams. _Da…!_ But his father's hand did not find his. He did not pull him into a loving embrace.

Gunz hadn't understood. It wasn't fair that their mother had been taken so quickly—so fast that by the time he'd heard, it was all over. She was already gone. And it wasn't fair to his father, who had spent his life defending Erebor from unspeakable evil.

His father only sat, still as stone, not even aware that he was beside him. Gunz had felt that pain like a sword to the heart.

 _Come away, Gunnar,_ his uncle had said. _Leave him be. It will take time…_

Now, as he ran with his uncle's guard, Gunnar, son of Fili, let that wound fuel his warrior spirit. Injustice was part of this world. He knew that. But it made him angry, and as long as he lived, he would fight it like the Son of Durin that he was.

Like his uncle and father, who most of all, detested orc-kind—the ones who'd killed their Grandfather, their Father, their Uncle...and had been trying for decades to kill all who bore the blood of Durin.

* * *

"There! Three of them!" someone yelled as their trail curved and entered the woods outside Duillond. "In the woods! To the east!"

Kili slowed, bow in hand, and scanned the wooded upslope in the grey dawn light. He drew one arrow and armed his bow. _Three, at least. Could be more..._

Around him, the Blue Mountain guard became silent, weapons at the ready, eyes searching the woods on either side.

There wasn't much to hear. Even the bird life was subdued in the morning mists, and none of Khelethur's ravens had caught up yet.

No matter. Kili could fight without them.

Gunnar, standing three dwarves away, took a step forward. Yes, someone needed to flush out the hidden orcs, but Kili turned his head sharply. _No, lad. Not you._

Skirfir's hand flashed out and gripped Gunnar's shoulder, stopping him as rough-coated Guards shouldered past and jogged for the cover of undergrowth. Several more guard followed, spacing themselves out to make a line.

The guards moved forward together, making slow, step-by-step progress up the slope.

Kili's senses were on edge—and he scanned the hillside above them. Orcs would either try a suicide attack on the guards, or they'd try to hide: slip away uphill, climb a tree, slither under a rock…

One made the mistake of climbing a tree. Kili spotted the tell-tale movement of branches, pulled his bow taught—and fired over the heads of his guard. A _whump_ and a gutteral _ugh_ told him he'd hit his target.

A scrawny goblin-looking orc toppled to the leaf-strewn ground, limp and still.

And at that, roaring war-cries came from two other directions on the slope, and the fight was on—including the fallen orc. It infuriatingly rose and charged, Kili's arrow still stuck between his ribs.

Kili fired again, and this time his arrow was followed by two Guards and their razor-sharp battle axes who moved in and made sure it was dead.

Gunnar charged ahead as several others spotted an outlier just to the north. This time Kili kept himself from calling the lad back. _I can't,_ he realized. _Lad has to prove himself…_

Gunnar's group surrounded the stray orc, disarming it and dragging it back to the road.

It was squealing like a stuck pig and thrashing about, and Kili had a mind to step up and help, though Skirfir's fierce glare told him he should not. Kili tried to emulate Thorin at times like this—just stand tall and look noble and affronted while others handled the offending criminals...but a lifetime of being a front-line warrior was hard to overcome.

The little group stood before him, presenting their prize, Gunnar's axe tight against its chest, holding it back. One of the pike-wielders stood with blood streaming from an unprotected forehead but he was not deterred by the snarling orc.

"Don't let him get his hands on anyone's knife," the wounded dwarf said to the others. "Watch him, now…"

A dozen blades surrounded the outlier.

After a long moment, Kili spoke. "You have been raiding in Dwarf lands," Kili said in his best and deepest voice.

"No. Not me. I'm just leaving," The orc snarled.

Someone's spear hooked a sack tied to the orc's belt and sliced it free.

Several large eight-sided silver coins clattered to the ground...the kind produced only in the Duillond mint.

Kili didn't need to accuse it of lying. It's mere presence in his kingdom was a death sentence.

But then it got a good look at Gunnar and hissed. "Durin-blooded whelp…" It spat and looked from Gunnar to Kili as if trying to decide whether this was Kili's son or…

Gunnar raised his long-axe closer to the orc's throat. "I am Gunnar of Erebor and you are a filthy murderer."

The orc hissed again, and pointed blades moved closer, penning him in. "Yesss," it hissed and blew its breath out in an odd way. Kili realized it was laughing. "And so is your slimy father."

Kili stepped forward, drawing the orc's attention away from Gunz before the lad could get impulsive.

The orc tried to crouch low, hunkering down as much as it could, suddenly serious and wary.

"Battle-proof dwarf, battle-proof," it muttered.

Kili had heard this before. Something about his survival after a poisoned orc-wound had become legend to orc-kind.

It was, of course, not really the truth of the matter. Nothing about orc belief had much to do with truth, and this orc was only going to talk nonsense.

In silence, he nocked an arrow and drew his bow back as far as he could and aimed down. Gunz backed away quickly and this time Kili's arrow brought swift and sure death.

As one, the dwarf Guards lowered their weapons and turned away, leaving only two to drag the carcass off the road.

Kili saw Gunnar go to the old dwarf with the head wound, pulling out a kerchief to staunch the bleeding.

The oldster started to object, then realized it was the young prince and went quiet. Kili snorted. He was certain the old dwarf was trying work out whether it was more of an honor to keep complaining or to make a show of having the young Prince's attention.

Gunz neatly got the old fellow's arm over his shoulder and moved him to the rear of the escort and set him on an outcropping of stone and clamping a hand tight to the wound.

And then shouts from the dwarves on the hillside told Kili that they'd found something unexpected.

He couldn't help it, he charged up the slope to see, Skirfir at his back.

Shouts of "Heyah!" preceded him, and he arrived at the base of a tree to find a dozen of his best fighters with blades out surrounding one nearly-dead orc and a scruffy, dirt-encrusted man.

"Get them apart!" Kili ordered. The man was nudged away from the orc at spear-point.

"Why are you with these orc?" Kili growled to the man, sword in hand. Unless he could give a password, this man was as much an enemy as goblin-kind.

The scruffy man, looking none too steady, slowly turned a dirty face to him, and shaking as if with a mild palsy, seemed to recognize who he must be, and let out a short laugh. Behind them, the dying orc's breathing rasped as if it wanted to object.

"Because they pay in unmarked gold _,_ " he drawled.

Someone's mattock smacked the man in the shoulder, knocking him backwards. The skinny man landed on his rump.

"Awww," the man groaned, still shaking. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because you're a disrespectful ass," Skirfir said. The dwarves around the man moved their blades closer to his arms and face.

Behind him, Kili heard the ring of steel and an ominous _clunk_ , a sign that someone had put that orc out of its misery.

The man tried to make himself smaller, pulling back from the razor sharp weapons around him. "By Brega's horse...so I took a job for a bit of pay. Where's the harm in that?"

"Your employers seem to be dead," Kili pointed out. "I hope they paid you in advance."

Kili and the man stared at each other for a long moment, the dwarven warriors still as stone. The man had indeed given a password.

"Let him up," Kili said.

To their credit, Kili's Guard obeyed instantly and stepped back, but more than a few of them kept their weapons ready, and Skirfir was glowering at him as good as any Durin.

* * *

Lady Nÿr, Queen of the Blue Mountains, would not hide in the depths of Khelethur like a frightened rabbit. She was a Daughter of Durin and an essential part of her Lord husband's army, just as much as his Battle Guard were.

It was old Ulf, assigned to the household guard, who approached.

He bowed with great respect. "My lady, the sun rises."

Nÿr nodded. She never quite knew what to make of Ulf, oldest among Kili's Firebeard relations. He was proud and aloof most of the time, but around her he always seemed reverent, as many old bachelor dwarves were toward any mother dwarf. All of them were half afraid, half in love with any young mother who had a bairn at the breast, as the old timers would say.

It was a phenomenon the young mothers worked to maintain. It was a form of protection, after all.

"Thank you, Ulf. Will you come with me?" She well knew it was his assignment to stay with her, but it was Lady An who had coached her in managing the household guard. _Always request the help you know they are there to provide. It helps them understand that they serve_ you _, not just their King._

In response, he bowed again, hand on heart.

Nÿr paused long enough to grab her fur-lined cloak and check on her babies. Both lads and her small lass were sound asleep, despite the night-time excitement, and each one had been commandeered by a different nurse. All was well, Nÿr decided. With luck, she'd be back before their hungry stomachs woke them up.

Embur stood, her face set in a firm expression that said _I'm going with you._

Nÿr did not object. They joined Ulf and Nÿr let him open the door.

Ulf, of course, walked just ahead as they climbed from the lower levels to the family quarters. They encountered only the expected household guards along the way, stationed in key defensive posts, and before she knew it, Ulf was checking a small access portal, and then nodded to her, opening a narrow door. Outside was a little-used ravenspeaker ledge which sat tucked in a protected elbow-like nook in a bend of the exterior lodge's architecture.

Khelethur's ravens, of course, knew exactly where this was. If they didn't find her on the broad terrace outside the family quarters, the ravens would to look here.

Sure enough, one raven was here ahead of her. She went directly to the railing, Embur at her back.

Corax was an unhappy bird, fluffed up and pacing on the handrail, and looking as impatient as a raven could look. He stopped and put his head down when he saw Nÿr.

 _RAVEN KING, RAVEN KING!_ He demanded a moment later.

Nÿr tightened her leather arm guard—an angry raven would clutch and draw blood.

"He's halfway to Duillond by now. We had alarms in the night."

Corax looked at her, standing still with a glint of fury in his beady eye. Lucky for her, he stayed on the railing and didn't try to land on her arm to claw and fuss at her.

Nÿr also knew that the only cure for his anger was to send him off. "Find Raven King, Corax. Fly north to the Duillond Road. Tell him Hen-Hen is quiet and safe. Help find orcs."

At the sound of the last word, Corax stood tall and screeched his anger. Behind her, Embur covered her ears at the volume, which seemed ten times louder than usual in the confines of the little nook.

And then Corax launched himself, calling for others.

It wasn't a war flock, but it was fair-sized congress that circled the rooftop. And then they were gone.

Four ravens remained, perched on the eaves, waiting for invitations to speak. Nÿr called them down, one by one, hearing their morning reports. Nothing moving in the valley...not even the usual dwarf woodcutters or pony-tenders. The ravens sounded forlorn.

"Yes," she assured them. "We are on alert. We are staying underground. You can still have nuts, though. Look, Embur's opening a bucket now."

Embur did indeed open a bucket and toss handfuls to the sloping roof below them. Several ravens swooped to collect their prizes.

The last raven hopped politely to her arm and she noticed at once the little green bead threaded onto a ring around its foot.

"You are an Erebor raven," she said to it. "Do you bring us news?"

The raven bobbed its head in respect.

Nÿr frowned as she listened. Fili had received a message from old Thranduil.

And it sounded to her like a warning...

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks for your patience and your notes! A shout-out to TOWG, Nenithiel, nonniemous, Grace2smile, melisande25, and the rest of you have taken a moment to post a note! Hand on heart to you and even if I don't have time to respond each time, please know I am more than grateful for your feedback. And of course a big hand on heart to Jessie152 for her ongoing support and proofing...and if you did not know, she is simul-posting translations in German on fan fiktion, the German-language fan fic site. :D

I think by the next chapter, we will be meeting up with a few more members of the Annuminas Alliance!

All feedback welcome, even if you're new to the story. Cheers!

Summer


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _A/N: translations in footnotes._

* * *

Gunnar, young Prince of Erebor, led the sturdy mountain pony that carried a skinny, ragged wounded man. His name was Kenelm, son of Dengil, and he bore a three-day old axe wound across his left side that had likely broken a rib or two. The result of some spat with his orc allies...all too common among that kind.

After leaving three dead orcs hanging from a tree as a gruesome warning to others that clearly said _Orc-kind in Ered Luin: this is your fate_ , the dwarves prepared to continue on.

And then, to Gunnar's surprise, his uncle had sent most of the Ered Luin Rough Coat regiment north to Duillond, but he used this man as his reason to take a smaller contingent east to the borderland between the Blue Mountains and The Shire.

"I put you in charge of this man, Gunnar." His uncle had been glowering, not at him, Gunz understood...but at the situation. He'd spoken quietly. "He gave a password. He is a spy of the Dunedain and our ally...though you will make a show of treating him as a senseless prisoner. Talk only to Skirfir or me if he needs something."

Gunz had agreed. He'd heard the password, he realized after the fact. _By Brega's horse…_

"I suspect he won't live more than a few days," his uncle had said. "But let's see if we can reunite him with his people before he's gone."

And then his uncle had walked away to attend to other duties, as if the Dunedain man were of no further concern. It had to be that way, Gunnar knew, in case any more orcs were watching and in case there were any more Dunedain spies in their midst. Those men needed to retain their cover.

So Gunnar trudged along beside the obedient pony. He'd made a tea using his Auntie Nÿr's pain-relieving mix and gave the man sips as needed. At first, he feared the dwarf-strength tea was too strong. But it was a blessing, he decided, for the man to lay draped on the pony's back, oblivious to the jostling and swaying.

After only a brief rest near midnight, Kili's small contingent of dwarves arrived at the shores of the River Lune in the early morning hours. Here they found a river crossing that would take them through the hills north of the Towers and drop into the Shire near Greenholm.

"We will stop here," Kili said in a low voice, the gently burbling river washing over the shallows not far away. "We will not cross into the Shire just yet. Tend the ponies, but no fire."

Gunnar checked Kenelm. The skinny man was still alive, but when he gently shook the man's shoulder to wake him, the eyes that opened were glassy and stared at nothing. With Skirfir's help, he moved Kenelm to rest in a grassy place and threw a saddle blanket over him. The pony was fed, watered, and brushed, and then Gunz managed a moment to wolf down salted pork and a cold potato, boiled three days ago. Someone handed him a flask of something fiery, and two swallows of that warmed him a bit. He grinned his thanks as he handed it back.

And then, as the eastern sky began to lighten, his Uncle motioned him forward.

Gunz knew exactly why. Ravens would awake at dawn, and he, Gunnar of Erebor, was a ravenspeaker.

* * *

Fili has been sitting alone in his rooms, in this favorite chair, smoking, for nearly a full day...mulling Iri and Zêl's translation of the words that "just came" to Thranduil as the moon went dark in the eclipse two nights ago.

 _Durin nosse anida tumba nu dagora nalla en' annuminas lirilla i' sikil en' nir' sana tuulo' numenor. i' er ya a' maa ten' i' sikil lotesse il- caela ta ar' will utua ere' ba..._

 _Annuminas._ Clearly the ruins of the old city north of the Shire. _Sikil._ Knife. He snorted. Thranduil's guards had once taken many of his own _sikil_.

He suspected the rest of the message was ordinary elf nonsense.

But _sikil en' nir'..._ knife of many. That...made him think. In his early years, learning to care for and fight with blades, he'd heard old tales of such things. He took another puff on his pipe and sorted the old memories.

 _Balin...ever the teacher._ Fili, a father now, understood that old Balin had been challenged by trying to teach two young lads who preferred the training ring rather than the study hall. He'd taken to catching their attention with weapons lore.

The history of the sword that was broken. Shields imbued with extra protection spells as they were forged. Arrowheads that could not miss their mark. And the legend of at least one dwarven smith who had spent his entire life trying to unlock the secret of forging _a blade of many blades._ An _Uhdbosh._

Fili understood—had always understood—the basic problem of using throwing knives in battle. Once thrown, they were gone. They could even be picked up and used against you. At the same time, a warrior could only aim at one target. It would help against a single opponent, but was a futile effort against an army.

His solution was to carry many, just as Kili kept a full quiver. He even preferred two swords, since losing one meant he was still armed.

But _a blade of many blades_ would somehow let a warrior throw one blade that turned to many blades in the air. The legend was that a warrior could carry only one of these blades, but at need it would become many blades, enabling a lone warrior to defend against many.

But no one living had ever seen one, as far as he knew. Fili didn't even believe it was anything that could be created in iron, regardless of the blacksmith's art.

 _Mithril, though. In mithril...who knows..._

And then the rest of the message. His heart burned at the words _death_ and _Durin kin._

He took another long draw on his pipe, then let the smoke out in a long stream. Iri and Zêl had dutifully translated the message, but Iri, at least, was too inexperienced to interpret it.

And he was stuck wondering how mithril could be spelled to turn _one_ into _many_.

* * *

Just after sunrise on a cool, misty morning, Sam Gamgee stood outside Bag End, saddling up his pony Golda with a young Frodo-lad asking a million questions.

"But where are going, Da?"

"Just a visit to Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry," Sam said, tightening the cinch. "Not a half years' journey to elves or anything…" He smiled at his lad. Young Frodo was always asking about going to visit elves. "But maybe someday we will do that—when you've grown up a bit more."

Young Frodo raised both fists in the air and shouted his glee. And then Rosie was there, handing him a satchel with lunch and leaning in for a kiss.

"Da says we can go visit elves someday," Frodo-lad announced.

Rosie took her little son's hand. "Someday. But today," she looked at him and did not let go of his hand, "We are off to Mrs. Puddifoot's quilting bee."

Sam watched as Frodo-lad looked at his feet, lower lip starting to protrude.

"Oh, she'll have sticky buns, Mrs. Puddifoot will," he said.

Frodo-lad looked up, sudden hope in his expression.

Sam kissed the lad on top of his curly head, added another kiss for Rosie, and mounted up. "Just a few days and I'll be back," he nodded to them, and then pointed Golda toward the Road.

Despite being a Hero of the Realm, Sam rode alone in the direction of Tookland. He waved at hobbits doing morning chores, out to feed chickens and turn loose the goats into fields. Robins, chickadees, hummingbirds, and even one raven flitted through the air, and his gardener's sense had him looking at the sky. Maybe rain this evening, he predicted. A good overnight rain every few days was what made the Shire so green, after all.

An hour later, it seemed to Sam that one particular raven was following him. The third time it landed on a tree branch and quorked just as he passed, he knew it was no wild Shire bird.

It watched him. Sam looked at its beady eyes, recalling a little trouble with _crebain_ once. "I'd like to hope you're one of those Erebor ravens as can talk to dwarves," he said to it.

The large corvid made a _kuk-kuk-kuk_ sound as it laughed and launched itself into the air again.

Sam sighed, wishing he did not worry over every dark thing in the world.

 _Erebor's ravens are a breed apart_ , he recalled Gandalf telling him once. _Not altogether friendly, but they are loyal to the house of Durin. And as long as the dwarves care about brigands in the wild, the Shire will be a safer place._

Sam had no quarrels with the western neighbors. King Kili had brought quieter times to the Shire, no doubt about that. And busy dwarves had gold and silver to purchase food. The entire Westfarthing was prospering from Ered Luin's new wealth, that was certain.

And then he rounded the corner that brought him to the barn at Waymoot.

"Sam!" A hearty voice greeted him, and Sam looked around. "Welcome to the party!"

And there was Merry Brandybuck, taller than a hobbit should be, arms wide in welcome.

"Hello, Mr. Merry," Sam nodded, pulling up and dismounting. Overhead, the same raven swooped past, then landed on a fence post. "That bird," he pointed, "has been following me."

Merry laughed, stepping up to offer a carrot to the pony. "Hello, Sir Bird," he called out to it. "Off with you now—tell your Raven King that his hobbit friends await!"

Sam looked at Merry as though the lad had finally lost his mind. "You think that will work?"

Merry shrugged and let out a bark of laughter. "Why not?" He looked back at the bird and waved a hand. "Off with you, now. Go on!"

Sam and Merry both watched as the bird stood tall a moment, muttered something neither of them understood, and then launched itself for a low pass over the hayfield before heading over the woods.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Zêl, guard-tutor to the Princess Iri, saluted the Erebor Royal Guard standing sentinel at the doorway to the Royal apartments with a short bow of the head, hand on heart, and was admitted. She needed her lunar charts for important calculations, and she'd left them on Princess Iri's desk in her study.

And the Princess was out for her evening sword practice.

Zêl walked with measured steps down the corridor, she knew the way. She passed the King's personal chambers. The heavy double doors were standing half open and the warm light of oil lamps shone on the smooth polished flagstones of the corridor's floor. Zêl walked by and from the corner of her eye she saw someone sitting crouched in a heavy, plush chair.

 _The King,_ it flashed through her mind. Was everything all right? Zêl paused and looked closer.

Fíli, King of Erebor, sat in an armchair, his golden braids framing his hunched shoulders, head bowed and his gaze fixed on a finely woven scarf he held gently in his hands.

Zêl recognized the elegant piece of cloth. A very fine scarf, the scarf of the Queen.

She felt a stab of grief deep in her heart. She knew that feeling all too well. She was about to move on—it would be more than inappropriate to disturb the King at such a private moment.

''Zêl?''

She turned and saw the King looking up at her. A brief tilt of his head told her that he asked her in.

Zêl slowly walked through the half-open door, then stood and bowed. ''My Lord.''

Fíli looked at the scarf in his hands and took a deep breath.

''Will it ever get any easier?'' He asked with an almost inaudible voice. Lady An had known Zêl's family very well and Fíli was aware that he and Zêl now shared the same kind of grief. She was herself a widow of many years.

Zêl remained calm despite the unusually private question. Her longsince service to the Royal Family had taught her that the descendants of the Line of Durin were not that aloof and detached. And since it was not proper to engage in such a private conversation while looking down at her King, she sat down on a chair by the door, folding her hands in her lap.

"At some point, My Lord ... yes," she answered.

Fíli sighed.

''Shall I fetch your daughter?" Zêl asked quietly.

''Thank you, but no...no. There is no need for that," Fíli said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. ''She has truly seen enough of this.''

Zêl understood. What the King really needed at that moment was the presence of his sons…or his brother. Someone who got him out of this ever-returning dark chasm, someone to take him out of himself and cheer things up, warrior-style. For a moment she considered sending for Lord Dwalin, but then something else got to her mind.

She stood up. ''My Lord, may I ask: When was the last time you went out? In one of the ale halls maybe? Having done something that was not purely mandatory."

Fíli looked confused. "Well, I think that was just before my brother's wedding, with Fjalar, and Gunz."

Gunz...that was a stiff subject.

''And with your brother?'' Zêl asked.

''I cannot remember…just for fun? Years back in the Ered Luin...that was a completely different time.''

Zêl relaxed as best she could and smiled at her King. ''Well, My Lord. I know when your son and heir accepts the crown from your hands that will finally happen again. But you should not wait that long. It may be a bit uncommon, but as your daughter's bodyguard, I consider it my duty to take care of your well-being, too. Please escort me to the Ale Hall of the Guard. It will do you good to spend an evening among your people.''

Fílis eyebrows shot up. Clearly, he wondered _to the ale hall? Just so?_

"Just look on me as one of the other lads," Zêl added, shrugging.

Fíli inhaled and tried to formulate an answer. But then he closed his mouth again and stood .

Zêl pointed with one hand to the door. ''My Lord, our Lady Queen would have been glad to know that you feel better. ''

Fíli understood why Iri liked her tutor so dearly. She was not just sophisticated and loyal to the core; in case of an emergency she was game to everything. He looked bluntly at her.

''Do we need a chaperon? '' Fíli asked with a weak grin and a frown.

Zêl thoughtfully rubbed her lightly whiskered chin. ''If you want to boost the rumor mill properly, then yes , My Lord.''

Fíli smiled.

Half an hour later he was sitting in the Ale Hall of the Guards with Zêl, the lads had raised their tankards to him, roaring a toast, but otherwise showed courteous restraint. Fíli was their King after all.

Zêl raised her first ale. ''To those we love,'' she declared.

Fíli bumped his mug to hers. "To those we miss sorely," he answered.

They both drank deeply.

''I hope you don't mind my asking, but how long…?'' He trailed off.

''Twenty-seven years and 3 hours, '' Zêl said dryly.

Mahal.

They drained their tankards.

Five ales each later, Zêl rested her head in her hands and looked up at her King. ''If I may ask, My Lord: there was a lot of whispering back then, that time when suddenly a Royal Wedding took place. How did you get to meet Lady An? It was said that Lord Balin had a hand in this?''

Fíli laughed out loud. ''Balin. Indeed. But he only grabbed the chance to keep the line of Durin going. I actually had a lot of other things going around in my head. It was utterly crazy. I…it...it was a coincidence.''

Zêl raised an eyebrow as if to say. "Yes? And?''

''You really want to know?''

''Aye," Zêl nodded.

''Well, it began like this...''

Two more hours later and after sharing a lot of pleasant memories about their "Ones," Fíli smiled, drank up and wiped the foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. "I never would have guessed that your husband was such a merryman. Priceless. Another ale?''

Zêl shook her head, looking a bit tipsy. "Another one would be completely inappropriate in the presence of the King," she declared with a feigned serious face. "I think it's time for me to retire to my quarters. And I should probably do my calculations on the moon another time. How are you feeling?''

''Good…er…good. Thank you.'' Fíli realized what Zêl was getting at.

''You see, My Lord. It is getting easier. It's the good things that count, the happy memories. Thank you for celebrating them with me today.'' Zêl rose and bowed her head, hand on heart. ''Sleep well, My Lord.''

Fíli got up also. "You too, thank you." He returned the gesture.

''You are welcome. Should you ever need a representative to stand-in for your brother again, you know where to find me.'' With that she turned and disappeared in the crowd of revelling guards that filled the hall.

Fíli looked after her in surprise, feeling slightly dizzy.

Later, back in his bedchamber, he spread An's scarf over his pillow and slept soundly all through the night.

.

.

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* * *

A/N: P _lease welcome Jessie152, who is writing Zêl's point of view in this story! Hand on heart to you, Jessie!_

 _\- Translation:_

 _Elvish: Durin nosse anida tumba nu dagora nalla en' annuminas lirilla i' sikil en' nir' sana tuulo' numenor. i' er ya a' maa ten' i' sikil lotesse il- caela ta ar' will utua ere' ba..._

English: Durin kin beware: deep under the battle cry of annuminas lays the knife of many...taken from numenor. The one who seeks the knife may not have it and will find only death...

 _Source: The Tel'Quessir Online Translator_

\- Also, if you are curious about How Fili met An, Fili and Kili tell the story to the kids in Story 3, Ch 20 (Kinseekers)... :D

\- Finally, my apologies for the long wait for ch 6...spent the holidays with a pre-op and then post-op spouse and that sort of took priority. All is well now!

\- Thank you so much for reading, and all feedback is welcome if you would like to drop a note/review!

 _\- Summer (and Jessie!)_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** translations are in the footnote. Elvish is sourced from realelvish, the website.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Kili and his small company remained camped on the western bank of the River Lhun for the day, hiding in the tall grass and remaining watchful. Kili slept awhile, rose to send and receive messages from his ravens, and at mid-afternoon made his way to the sentinel that stood looking east. Their grassy camp sat on a rise, and in the afternoon sun, Kili could clearly see the three towers on the other side. The very stone had an elvish glow, not to mention their shining lights.

The sentinel was his nephew Gunnar, taking a turn at standing watch just like everyone else. He nodded at Kili, looking very concerned. He lifted an arm and pointed to the river. "Something's there…" Gunz murmured.

Kili narrowed his eyes, spotting a tree branch move just a little.

"Could be the breeze…" Gunnar whispered.

Kili smiled. "Then it's a traveling breeze that only touches one tree at a time," he said in a low voice. "That, lad, is an elf."

Gunz looked startled. "I can't even see him..."

Kili smiled. "Neither can I," Kili consoled him. "But I'm certain _they_ see us."

He waited beside his nephew until sure enough, two tall elves stepped into a clearing just upstream.

As sentinel, Gunz quietly alerted the guard. In a few quick minutes a dozen archers had joined them and the entire camp was up, watchful in all directions. Kili grimaced at one or two loud stumbles, but he was satisfied that his company could muster in near silence.

Kili held up a hand in greeting to the elves.

Both elves bowed, then approached the camp, side-by-side.

"You are looking rather formal, my friends," Kili said to them as they came closer.

An ashen-haired elf with a swirling tattoo on his face put one hand on his heart and bowed his head. " _Mae govannen_ , my lord King." The elf beside him bowed again as well.

She was less formal however, shifted her weight to one side and smiled. " _Eller naa n'uma_ _lilhikke_ _lle, amin heru aran_."

Kili laughed and translated for Gunnar's benefit. "She says there is no sneaking up on us." He raised his voice and called back. "That, my friend, comes from having elven neighbors for so many years," Kili smiled, hand on heart in return. "I am glad to see you," he said, waving them forward. At the same time, his archers relaxed.

Kili grasped hands with both elves. "This is Yanu and Tuilind," he announced to his guard. "Friends since Erebor." With that, his dwarf guards stepped back in respect, though a few of the Blue Mountains Firebeards eyed the pair with a certain natural wariness.

"You remember Gunnar, Fili's son…" Kili introduced. Both elves gave a subdued and formal greeting to their young friend, eyes sparkling but mindful of his role as young prince and sentinel.

" _Lye tene lle khawi_ ," Yanu said to Kili, glancing at the ravens overhead.

"Thank you for coming. We have a wounded man," Kili said to Yanu. He had, in fact, summoned the elf friends by raven, since Yanu was an accomplished healer and fully approved by his physician Lady Wife. They left Gunnar, still on sentinel duty, and Kili led the elves quickly to a shelter in the grass. "We came upon a group of straggler goblins," he told them. "And discovered this Ranger disguised as a wandering rogue along with them." Kili slowed and led them into a small copse. "We dispatched the goblin, but this man...his wound was already a day or two old." He sighed and looked at Yanu as he led them around a rock. "I am hoping he will live long enough to speak with Halden or one of the Dunedain captains." Kili slowed and approached the grassy nest. "Skirf!" he called softly. "We have help."

Skirfir, taking his turn at guarding the injured Kenelm, stood and made a quick bow, hand on heart. "Yanu! Tuilind…" There was relief in his voice.

"May I examine him?" Yanu asked, glancing at Kili.

Kili nodded and Skirf quickly made way for Yanu.

Tuilind looked at Kili, eyes wide. "Do you think you caught Shadowback, my lord?" she asked quietly.

Kili shook his head. "No. A few of her followers. But this man, Kenelm, knows what the orc say of her." He lowered his voice. "He says that she waits for an appointed day to work some particular evil…"

Tuilind considered this. "The eclipse a few days back. We heard that it has stirred up goblin-kind. They believe it to be some kind of omen, that something will be happening..." She shook her head and snorted. "Of course that's nonsense."

Kili drew in a slow breath. "Yet just the sort of nonsense that orcs are quick to believe."

Together they watched Yanu tending to the man. Tuilind sighed. "He doesn't look good," she said quietly. She reached into a pocket and handed Kili a Dunedain token. "Halden bids us to escort you into the Westmarch…"

Yanu stood. "We should go now. I can carry this man." With that, Yanu bent to lift Kenelm onto his back. Skirfir hastened to help, but Yanu, tall and strong as any elf, stood with the big man on his back as if it were no real effort.

Kili nodded. He gestured to Skirfir, who would be staying put, and gave quick orders. They shared a firm warrior-to-warrior hand clasp, and then Kili headed for the river path. He collected Gunnar along the way.

"It is time to attend a meeting," he said to his young nephew.

* * *

Gunnar tried not to slosh his boots as they crossed the shallows of the Lhun, leaving Ered Luin and entering the Shire. He knew the geology of the two lands, of course. Ered Luin lay on different rock, had heavier forests and granite outcroppings. Westmarch and the Shire lay on older stone, with rolling hills and older trees. And roses...wild roses abounded in the Shire: soft pink, pale yellow, creamy white…

So unlike the stark landscape of Wardspire. Funny how he'd nearly forgotten the beauty of green growing things. An image of the wildflower meadows on the slopes of Erebor in spring came into his thoughts…

And he closed his mind to them. Not yet. He still could not think of home without his mother and father as they had been.

From the river, his Uncle led them up a steep embankment to a narrow trail that wound its way through tall grasses and scrubby willow. After a steady hour of threading their way through the brush of the river valley, Gunnar found himself following his Uncle up a grass covered hill with a stellar view of the river below. Ahead of them: three white towers.

 _Built by Gil-galad for Elendil of the Dunedain..._

And then the sound of an angry shout and hoofbeats jarred him from his thoughts and with a jolt of alarm, Gunnar's hand went to his sword.

Yanu, still carrying the senseless man, dropped into the cover of the tall grass. Tuilind hissed and sprinted away. Gunnar saw his uncle look at him for a brief moment, his fingers already pulling an arrow from his quiver.

Sword in hand, Gunnar rushed to protect his uncle's back. The grass, chest-high to a dwarf, could be hiding anything. His eyes darted around them, looking for movement. He saw nothing but Tuilind running, and the horse, coming towards them at a gallop. It would pass to their right.

He looked back at his uncle: Kili nocked his arrow, sighted a scrappy goblin riding low on the back of the frightened, bolting mare, and pivoted in a quick arc as he tracked the target.

Gunnar glanced around again, sword at the ready—still seeing nothing but grass, Tuilind, and the horse.

Kili fired.

 _No,_ Gunz thought, _That's an impossible…_

"Aieee!" The goblin screeched and jerked on the horse's back, hands clutching the arrow in its side. It balanced for two strides of the panicked horse, then bounced off.

Gunnar's eyebrows went up. _All right,_ not _an impossible shot._ He couldn't suppress a wry grin.

Then he felt Yanu's hand on his shoulder for a brief second as the tall elf raced past, aiming to head off the riderless horse.

"See to the man," Kili told him. He held another arrow at the ready, but did not aim.

Gunnar ducked back to the place where Yanu had left Kenelm and took up a defensive stance. The man lay senseless on the ground, and Gunnar tried to stay still even though his heart pounded. He took a deep breath, trying to calm it.

Tuilind shouted something in elvish, and he turned to see she held her sword pointing at something at her feet, her stance ready to strike.

She had found the goblin. His uncle darted forward. _They will try to get it to talk_ , Gunz realized. He stayed still, holding his position as Kenelm's guard. He scanned the area, alert for an ambush, but only saw Yanu catching up to the slowing horse and making a leap—the kind only a tree-elf could make—and vault onto the horse's back. Yanu's long ashen hair flowed into the wind as he turned to look back at Tuilind. The horse, slowing, turned with him. He was patting its neck when Gunnar looked back at his uncle and Tuilind.

Kili, glowering, stood over the goblin and drew his bow, firing point blank to finish it off.

And then hoofbeats again and Yanu approached with the winded horse. Gunz reached up, offering a hand to the nervous beast. Yanu stopped close and Gunz felt hot horse breath from flaring nostrils.

 _"Shhhh. Le a vellyn…"_ Yanu murmured to calm the horse.

Gunnar stood still as stone, sword still ready in his right hand, and gently took the horse's halter with his left, making the kind of clucking noises his father used to calm the Dale courier mounts. After a moment, the horse blew out a long breath and its ears flicked forward.

Yanu slid from its back and went to Kenelm. "I'm putting him on the horse," he said, easily lifting the wounded man. "Hold her," he said to Gunz.

Gunnar did.

And then Yanu was next to him. "Go with your Uncle, lad," he nodded toward Kili. "I'll stay with the horse."

Gunz didn't need to be told twice. He dashed to his uncle just as Kili turned to him.

"Come along. Goblins have the Tower stables."

Gunz, drew his long knife, and armed now with two blades, fell in behind his uncle, ready to fight.

* * *

Kili ran, bow in hand. The Tower stables lay just to the north, near the base of the first tower. He jogged, Gunz at his back, to a half-fallen tree at the top of a rise, He ducked behind a low branch. Gunnar ducked next to him a moment later.

Kili glared as he checked the paddocks and stable below. "Your eyes are sharper," he said to Gunz. "Tell me what you see."

Gunnar, looking so much like a younger version of Fili, peered forward, jaw set. "There," he whispered. "Behind the smithy. Two…" Gunz shook his head. "Three. Goblins, not orcs. Looks like they're ransacking the scrap pile…"

Kili nodded. That meant goblins armed with random odd bits of things instead of proper weapons. Then again, he'd rarely seen a common goblin armed with a true sword. "Scavenging...like always," he murmured.

"Tuilind," Gunz pointed. Sure enough, the tall woodland elf had positioned herself behind a tree about twenty strides away.

Kili nodded to her and assessed the stables. He'd been here before once or twice. "This is a small outpost," he said to Gunz. "Maybe only five or six hobbits...sometimes Dunedain."

"I thought this was elf land," Gunnar said.

"Used to be," Kili said. "Look," he said, nudging Gunz. "Raven. On the roof-just there."

Gunz cupped his mouth and made a hollow "tok-tok-tok" sound, just as ravens make.

The bird would mark their position. Sure enough, after walking the length of the stable roof, the raven called back, preened a bit, and then launched itself for a flyover before circling wider.

Gunz made the "tok-tok" sound again.

The raven landed. Kili regarded it. "You're a fine fellow," he said quietly. "Goblins?"

The bird stood tall, then bobbed its head. In short time, Kili had the raven's view of things. When asked how many goblins, the raven pecked at his perch 5 times.

Kili looked at Gunz. They both knew enough about ravens to be skeptical about their counting abilities.

"Five," Gunnar said, "Give or take a hundred…"

It was an old joke of Fili's and Kili snorted. This lad, he decided, was shaping up to be a fine young Son of Durin.

"Let's go find out," Kili said. With that, he stood and charged down the little slope.

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* * *

 **Footnotes:**

 _Mae govannen -_ well met (greeting)

 _Eller naa n'uma_ _lilhikke_ _lle, amin heru aran -_ It is not easy to sneak up on you, my lord

 _Lye tene lle khawi -_ we got your raven

 _Shhhh. Le a vellyn… -_ Hush. You are with friends…

* * *

 **A/N** Apologies for the slow posting...I do have a full time day job and the Pacific Northwest spent most of February under two feet of snow for "snowmageddon." Might not sound like much to most people, but we're at sea level (Puget Sound) and the snow is usually on the surrounding mountains, not down here in the flatland. Our infrastructure's not prepared for it. Power, internet, roads...all those things.

Happily, most of the snow is gone and it is finally looking like spring might be on the way.

In other news, I am working on a "serial numbers rubbed off" version of the Erebor 3022 stories with the intention of making them available with original characters as eBooks, both in English and in German. Woot! I'll let you know when those are up. Probably this summer.

Also a shout out to Beta Reader Jessie152...she is ever supportive and honest.

Hoping your weather has been manageable...

As always, all feedback welcome, even if you just say Hi!

Chapter 8 is almost ready as well, so it should post soon. (Hint: Sam!)

Finally, I'm off to Wondercon in Anaheim at the end of this month. A couple of programs are of interest: the Tolkien Bio-pic and promises of news about the Amazon Prime series...which looks like it will focus on the Second Age...! I'll let you know what I uncover..

Hand on heart and deepest thanks for your patience,

Summer


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** translations are in the footnote.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Kili charged down the low hill toward a simple pair of hobbit buildings: stable and bunkhouse. But what should be a peaceful place with smoke coming from the bunkhouse chimney and hobbits working in the little kitchen garden was the opposite: windows shuttered, doors closed, and a two-wheel cart propped against a stump, one wheel off and set aside, hand tools abandoned.

Kili slowed as he approached a paddock area, grabbing the collar of his nephew Gunz as the lad nearly ran past.

And then a long, black fletched orc-arrow thunked into the ground several strides to his right—ill aimed and too heavy to go far.

Movement caught his eye—there, on the corner of the stable roof. Kili raised his bow and fired on instinct. The orc jerked back but held its position.

Tuilind, closer to the bunkhouse, shouted in elvish (Kili didn't bother to translate) as he re-armed and fired again. This time, the rooftop orc tried to rise but the force of the arrow knocked him back. He appeared to roll, then dropped off the roof to the ground and lay still.

Gunz, his blade unsheathed, pointed it toward Tuilind, who had just stepped into the open, showing her position.

Kili nodded. "They can't resist an elf," Kili murmured to the lad. Sure enough, a string of five goblin-types lumbered out of the bunkhouse, eyes wide, hooting at each other and making rude gestures toward the female elf.

Kili nocked and arrow and drew the bow, eyeing possible targets. He spotted Tuilind when she raised her own bow and fired dead-center into the heart of a red-cloaked goblin in the lead, and Kili aimed at the one just behind him, picking off a hunch-back with a spiked club.

He re-armed as the remaining three watched their two leaders fall to the ground and then look at each other, obviously confused about what to do next.

Tuilind's arrow hit goblin number three as it stood gaping and it froze, then slowly toppled over backwards.

The last two turned into each other, backed up in a panic, and scrambled to run back to bunkhouse, but Kili aimed for the closer one, fired, and it stumbled, landing face-first into the dirt. The other one went two more steps, then stumbled to its knees with Tuilind's white-fletched arrow through its gut.

Kili re-armed his bow one more time. For a moment, he and Gunz stood still. Would more orcs emerge from the bunkhouse? He scanned the stable roof where the first orc had fired at them. Anyone else up there?

Kili and Tuilind looked at each other, but before they could make another move, a muffled bang and crash came from inside the little building, followed my an unmistakably hobbit voice.

"That's for horse thieving!"

And then a rather flustered group of young hobbits scrambled from the bunkhouse as if fleeing a fire.

Gunz didn't need direction—he waved at them, drawing them toward an old oak and away from Kili's position.

Tuilind and Kili advanced.

"Dwarves!" one of the hobbits said to the others.

"Yes!" Gunz waved them over. "This way!"

One last hobbit emerged from the house with a wicked heavy frying pan in one hand, looking annoyed at the elf and dwarf arrows pointed at him. He was a plump old smith and ignored both Kili and Tuilind as he counted the dead goblins in the yard. "There's one inside, and here's another five of the rascals," he declared. "You missed one."

Kili, trying to keep his expression serious, pointed to the one he'd toppled from the stable roof.

"That him?"

The old smith took a deep breath, nodded, then looked around. "And their chief—that one took off on our best cart horse about a quarter hour back."

Kili, still on alert for more orc, nodded to the old smith. "Got that one too, and our other elf friend has your cart horse," he said. "Any more in your bunkhouse?"

The old smith brushed off his frying pan. "Not any more. This is the lot."

The young hobbits were huddled under the oak with Gunnar, and they were nodding their heads in agreement. The old smith stamped over to the two-wheel cart. "Thieving scum," he said. "Ruffians. Interrupting a good day's work, upsetting the horses." He looked up at the stables as if listening for the other occupants.

It took Kili and Tuilind only a few minutes to go through the stables and bunkhouse, drag out one senseless goblin with a large lump on his head (and quickly dispatch it permanently) and agree with the old smith that no more goblin-kind were there.

Tuilind excused herself and took off at a run to find Yanu and the wounded Dunedain.

Kili approached the grumbling old smith and bowed, hand on heart.

"Kíli," he said. "At your Service.''

The smith's eyes went round and his huffiness quite suddenly vanished. "My…my Lord Durin," he stammered, using the name many Shire hobbits called him. Then the fellow seemed to recall his manners, stood as tall as he could, and nodded. "Omer Longfoot. At yours and your family's."

* * *

Fili was aware that for the last two days, his youngest daughter had been smiling and laughing more and his oldest fussed less over his brooding.

Maybe, he reflected, because he wasn't brooding. It was as if his beloved An had smacked him on the arm and told him to take better care of her girls. In fact, it was Fili who quickly devoured a slice of meat pie and called for Iri instead of the other way around.

"If you're going with me, get moving!" he called down the hall. Fjalar would already be out on Ravenhill for the evening news. Fili and Iri would take duty on the Western Terrace. "Hurry up, lass!"

Iri hastened out of her rooms to join him, leather coat in hand. And if Fili's pace was more brisk than it had been in the past year, she didn't comment.

They were met on the terrace by a large mass of noisy ravens that the Guards called the King's Flock. So many wanted his attention that it was best for Iri to assist and help manage the traffic.

An hour into their evening chat with Erebor's gossipy helpers, Iri brought one sleek bird to him, transferring the blue-black bird from her gauntlet to his.

"Father," she said in a quiet voice as she handed the hen over. "From Ered Luin."

Fili took the bird, trying not to look too eager and frighten it into garbling its message.

Slowly, he stepped away from the crowd of other birds as Iri helpfully distracted most of the flock by rattling a fresh box of nuts.

Most conversations with ravens were short and cryptic, and a long-distance raven usually recalled less of its message than others because of the flight time. This bird only said _Gunz Gunz_ over and over.

As he calmed the bird, he got a good look at it and spied the little message pouch it carried. He released the light harness and provided nuts. "A very fine bird you are, flying so far. Best bird."

The raven eyed the harness and pouch Fili had removed, fluffed and shook itself, and then grabbed the largest hazelnut in Fili's gloved hand and launched itself for a flat place on a sunny rock.

Fili watched it, then stripped off his gauntlet and separated the message pouch from the little harness.

 _Gunz. Gunnar. My sunny lad._

And with both eagerness and dread, he contemplated what message this could be from his absent son.

Would it be good news or...not?

* * *

East of the River Lhun, the sun was setting over the Westfarthing and a large autumn moon was just rising over the barn at Little Delving. Inside, two Shire notables had unpacked a delivery and arranged things to their liking.

"You don't think they'll miss this bit of ham…?" Pippin held up a small slice of juicy ham between his fingers, considered it, and popped it in his mouth, eyes closing at the taste. "Now this is just perfect dwarf food."

"Unless you eat all of it first," Sam glared at him. They had a whole sidebar full of provender ready for tonight's meeting: meats _and_ vegetables, since the guest list ran from dwarves to elves.

"We could never serve this to a _King_ ," Pippin emphasized, "without sampling it first."

"Yes," Sam barked. "But that _King_ is a dwarf and we both know he'll eat anything-"

Pippin grinned widely and joined Sam in finishing, "Unless it's green!"

Sam sighed as Pippin laughed. Then he cocked his head to listen. "Elves," he whispered. "Outside."

Sam looked to the door while Pippin looked back at the array of fruits and vegetables. "Well, we've got eight kinds of lettuces, the apples, all those currants, plus the walnuts and…"

Sam let out his breath in exasperation, tossed a tea towel at Pippin, and headed for the door to meet his guests. Pippin's words trailed off as he looked at the towel in his hands as if it were a puzzling object, then quickly wiped off his hands and hurried to follow Sam.

Outside Sam found one very regal elf holding the light reins of a horse. Pippin took the reins and led the tall mount away to food and water, while Sam bowed his most formal bow.

The regal elf smiled and inclined his head. " _N'uma anta, Mellon_ ," he said gently.

Sam straightened up and smiled. "I just want you to be welcome is all," he said. He was always a bit tongue-tied around elves, especially Elladan, who was a son of Elrond—because, well, he was Elrond's son! And how a Shire-lad like himself had become on speaking terms with such folk…?

Sam stopped that line of thinking. Yes. Well.

"I am the first," Elladan said, reaching out to touch Sam's shoulder. "Because a raven found me earlier this evening to say that our Lord Dwarf has been occupied with routing goblins near the White Towers and is on the way with a wounded Dunedain. I should like to help the fellow, if I can."

Sam's eyebrows went up. A wounded Dunedain? That was unexpected. They would need a healing hall. "Right, well. You can use this tackroom…" Sam shifted to battle captain and led Elladan inside. Of course, it was a hobbit barn and Elladan had to duck in order to enter.

"Where did they find an injured man?" Sam asked, clearing a workbench for use.

"I'm not sure," Elladan replied. Then he looked up and listened. "Though I'm certain we are about to find out."

Elladan led the way back outside and indeed, three dwarves, two silvan elves, and Mr. Merry driving a pony cart, lanterns alight, were coming down the tree-lined lane to the old barn just outside Little Delving.

Sam rushed forward, but Merry had things in hand. He pulled the wagon right inside the barn, and the two silvan elves, after quick hand on heart bows to Lord Elladan, worked together to lift a large, unconscious man from the wagon. Elladan led them into the tack room.

"Where did you find a wounded man?" Sam asked Merry, his brows drawn in concern.

"We'll tell you later," Merry answered, turning back to tend the pony and cart. "But we've had ruffians again—cornered Omer Longfoot out at the stable."

"Hah," Sam said. "And that was their last mistake, I'll say that for Old Omer."

"Indeed it was," a mildly amused, very deep voice replied.

Sam turned to see Thorin Oakenshield's own nephew smiling in amusement. Recalling his manners, Sam bowed. "Welcome, my good King…"

Kili put one arm on Sam's shoulder, then pulled him in for a hug.

Sam smiled, though a dwarf hug was always slightly dangerous—so many bits of armor and metal…

"It is good to see you, Sam," Kili said quietly.

"And you," Sam replied, warrior to warrior. He had only met the brothers Fili and Kili after the war—after Mr. Frodo had taken the ship—but he'd heard tales about them all his life, of course.

Then Sam spied a sunny-haired dwarf as they all helped Merry back the pony cart from the barn—a youngster with fuzz for a beard. "Hello," he said, as they stood in front of the old Shire barn. He was surprised to see the lad outside of dwarf lands. "Is this our young Prince Gunnar?"

Merry clucked to the pony and drove the cart away for unhitching, and the young dwarf turned to smiled at Sam. "Yes, Master Hobbit. Gunnar," he bowed. "Son of Fili, at your service."

"Sam of Bag End." Sam put his hand over his heart. "At yours and your family's."

In the midst of this, two large ravens swooped overhead, circled, and alighted on the barn roof, quorking loudly.

"If you'll excuse me," Kili nodded to Sam.

"Of course," Sam said, looking up at the birds. Night was falling—these two birds were apparently making their last delivery of news for the day. He watched as Ered Luin's King in his battle leathers took several steps away and held up a hand. The ravens seemed to argue with each other a moment, then Kili called to one. The argument ceased and the one that had claimed the weather vane for a perch spread its wings and glided down.

Kili soothed the bird, had a murmuring conversation with it.

"Just the evening reports," Gunnar commented. "That one's in from Khelethur, I think."

Sam looked at Gunnar, so much a younger version of Erebor's King, as Kili called the lad over to him and handed off the bird. Gunnar took the raven, pulling some kind of treat from his pocket and feeding the raven by hand while Kili motioned to the second bird.

And then Sam realized why the younger dwarf had been brought out of Ered Luin to this meeting in the Shire. _Put that lad with the Dunedain and we'll have two battle forces who can communicate by raven._

Because, of course, he knew his family history, and while some elves and even the odd hobbit could understand a few raven words in a pinch, Durin-blooded dwarves could communicate with them in great detail.

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* * *

Translation: _N'uma anta, Mellon =_ no need, friend (from the website _realelvish_.)

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THANK you for reading...looks like my pace will be about one chapter a month, lol. Special thanks (as always) to beta reader Jessie152, who also translates these chapters into German for posting on fanfiktion, a German fan fic site. If you're spiffy with Google translate, that's another source of fan fic reading fun!

Hand on heart to all of you-and a gentle reminder to leave a note, even if it's just a quick one, and let me know you're reading! -Summer


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Translations are in the footnotes!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Kili enjoyed nothing better than a Shire banquet hosted by hobbits. While the feast in this Westfarthing barn could not rival that infamous Dwarf Raid on Bag End so many years ago, the ham and bacon were definitely up to snuff. There were no Dwarf songs to stir their hearts, but hobbit chatter and the inevitable toasting songs of Merry and Pippin did the job.

Even Elladan laughed and banged ale flagons with Kili this evening.

But as all meals come to an end, platters were emptied. Tuilind and Yanu returned to their tasks, tending the wounded man Kenelm and making random patrols of the area. Gunz served as steward to clear the dinnerware, refill flagons, and then leave the three hobbits with Kili, Elladan, and Halden as they shared pipeweed and leaned back to savor their ale along with fine Longbottom Leaf.

Kili saw Halden raise his flagon in salute.

"This is a hearty dinner, my friends," Halden said. "I thank you. It makes me regret that I leave before the sun rises."

"There is foodstuff packed for you take along," Sam replied, using his pipe to point toward the makeshift kitchen.

"My thanks, Mr. Gamgee."

"Is before dawn really necessary?" Merry asked.

"Yes. I would prefer early breakfast first," Pippin grinned. "Though second breakfast on the road is acceptable."

"With regret," Halden said. "I can not allow you to travel with us. We are heading into the wilds beyond the borders of the Shire."

Kili saw Pippin and Merry look at each other.

"Of course we're going," Merry said, turning back to the group. "Since that's where our quarry is hiding."

Elladan cleared his throat. "Our Lord Dunedain is correct. This is not a mission for Shire folk."

Merry and Pippin looked at Sam (who ignored them by lifting his ale for a drink), then at Kili.

Kili knew they wanted him to support their cause, but he kept his expression still as stone.

He saw Merry fold his arms across his chest. "I don't see why you're all being so stubborn," the hobbit said.

Pippin sat taller as if refusing to give up hope. "And you'll be needing seasoned members of the Fellowship along…"

Sam put his mug down with a thump. "If Mr. Gandalf were still here, he'd tell you to find some sense."

Kili could see that Pippin wasn't backing down. "We," Pippin said, putting one hand to his chest, fingers splayed. "Are talking about the defense of the Shire." He nodded as if this changed everything. "Is that not why Gandalf sent us home?"

Silence.

Kili looked at Pippin, not without sympathy. "But," he said as gently as he could. "In this, I think, my Lord Took…yours is the Erebor role."

Kili saw everyone at the table turn to look at him.

Merry's brows were drawn together. "Erebor…?"

"…Stayed home," Kili said. "During the War of the Ring. As much as we wanted to ride out and join the battles, we had agreed to stay put and hard as it was, we did."

Pippin looked from Kili to Merry, then back to Kili. "I don't understand."

It was Sam who answered. "I do." He paused to take a puff on his pipe. After a moment, he went on. "Sauron always wondered if the Ring was in the dragon hoard. As long as he thought it was really in Erebor, he didn't suspect the Shire."

Halden spoke up. "And he looked in the Shire, as you well know…and didn't find it."

Kili nodded. "When Erebor stayed home, it increased his suspicion that my brother guarded it. We, too saw black riders on our lands that autumn."

Elladan looked at the hobbits. "That allowed Frodo and Sam," he nodded to Sam. "To make it to Bree…"

From there, they all knew, Aragorn had guarded them in that desperate flight to Rivendell.

"From then on, Sauron was guessing," Halden said. "Was it in Erebor? Rivendell? Orthanc? Who had it?"

Kili nodded. "And all the while we sat tight in Erebor, warding it with the deep magic of Durin's folk…far older than that of Sauron."

Elladan nodded. "Sauron sensed it and it made him uncertain. We elves knew he tried many ways to infiltrate Erebor in hopes of controlling those inside." He nodded at Kili. "My father was not unaware of your struggles to prevent that."

Kili and Elladan regarded each other. _No one needs to know that it was me he tried to control…_ Kili thought. _And I for one am glad he did not succeed._

Elladan nodded to him, hand on heart. "Durin's folk knew they must endure."

Kili returned the gesture. _We did at that._

Sam pinned his fellow hobbits with a stern eye. "So you stay home and we pretend nothing is going on."

Halden nodded. "Yes. The dwarves will stay west of the Lune as if making a routine circuit of their borders, the Dunedain will ride back to Arnor…and you hobbits carry on like nothing has happened." He looked at the faces around the table. "This ruse of normalcy will embolden Shadowback into moving forward."

"…And fall into our trap," Kili smiled.

Pippin looked unhappy and shook his curly head. "Unless we have a palantir no one knows about, we'll never manage things on opposite sides of the river."

Next to him, Merry fidgeted with his pipe. "We don't need a palantir, Pip."

Pippin raised an eyebrow, obviously trying to work out Merry's meaning.

Sam smiled. "Because we," he said. "Have two dwarves who are Sons of Durin."

* * *

Gunnar was born a Prince of Erebor. He was born into in the bloodline of Durin, and while he would never rule as King in his father's place (Mahal willing,) he had already endeavored to follow his Lady Grandmother's footsteps in the ways of the stonespellers.

He could sense old magic in the stone of Middle Earth—even in the gravel under his boots in this Shire barnyard as he followed Tuilind the Elf to his Uncle's tent.

"My lord?" Tuilind's voice was quiet at the tent flap to the King's makeshift quarters.

"Come!"

She held back the tent flap and Gunnar stepped inside with respect, hand on heart. Inside, embers burned in a hanging brazier, and his Uncle Kili, bent over a table with a map, looked up. In the corner, Corax grumbled from his roost on a piece of dead wood.

His uncle stood straight and nodded for Tuilind to leave them. She bowed and ducked out of the tent.

Gunz stood silent. He trusted his uncle and was patient.

"Gunnar. You will not be returning to Ered Luin with me..." Kili paused.

Gunz couldn't help looking up in alarm. _What? Leaving me behind…?_

"I am sending you east," his uncle said. "With the Dunedain."

Gunz blinked at this unexpected news as his uncle continued. "I will keep Ered Luin's forces on the west bank of the river.''

Gunz's mind whirled. _The Dunedain?_ "Why...?" he began, then stopped.

His uncle smiled (sadly, Gunz thought) and stepped slowly closer. "Because you are a Son of Durin, lad," he said.

For the briefest moment, Gunz wavered—as if he wanted to fold his arms and demand he stay with his Uncle.

But he did not. Something in his Durin blood was solid in his core and bade him wait.

Kili took a deep breath. "These creatures we track are not unknown to us," he said in his deep, quiet voice. "You know there is an alliance of dwarves, elves, men, and hobbits seeking to track them and put an end to this incursion before summer. What you do _not_ know," he paused. "And will keep secret," he emphasized. "Is that our Lord Aragorn is making a royal visit to his northern lands at midsummer…"

Gunz met his Uncle's gaze at this news. He understood now. _This_ was what had brought Kili out of Khelethur.

"But these old remnants of Saruman are scattered. It takes too long for us to share news of them. They strike and flee and hide, and we can only track them."

Gunz took a deep breath and rocked back a bit. "You send me as ravenspeaker," he guessed. That was the logical solution to coordinating the search.

He was rewarded with his uncle's mischievous smile. "Yes," he confirmed.

Gunz didn't quite know what else to say. The silence seemed to stretch, and then his uncle reached out and put one hand on his shoulder.

"You will be well guarded," he finally murmured. "You are good with your weapons. The ravens know you."

Gunz nodded, blinking.

Then his uncle slowly pulled him into a familiar embrace, cupped his jaw, and leaned forward to touch foreheads.

"I have known you all your life," he said in a whisper. "My trust rides with you, Gunnar of Erebor. You are a little unsteady...I recognize this. But I also trust your skill and talent, and everything that you are, Son of Durin."

 _Am I worthy of this trust?_ Gunz wondered…and looked down.

"Stand tall with the Dunedain, Gunnar," his uncle went on. "Focus on the task. When you see your father again—you will be warrior to warrior."

Gunnar looked up sharply at this, and they looked at each other, nephew and uncle. Eye to eye, silent and still.

 _My father…_ Gunnar felt that horrible hollowness yet again at the memory his father, completely unreachable and remote. He wanted to step back.

But his uncle's hand stayed firm on his shoulder. "The Dunedain will travel hard and fight harder. Learn to fight alongside them." Then he let his voice go deeper.

"Endure...and find your way, Gunnar."

Gunz was still for several long moments. He understood this was a directive from a King to a Prince. And what good was being a Prince if he could not do his part? He nodded. " _Sugùl ma_ , uncle."

Kili smiled.

Then they both heard new voices outside, touched foreheads again in the time-honored Durin way, and stepped apart.

"Come!" Kili called again.

Tuilind was back, holding the tent flap aside as a tall, rugged Dunedain ducked inside. Gunnar stepped out of the way, standing to the side of his uncle, as a page would do.

"Halden of the Dunedain," Gunz heard Kili greeting the man. Dunedain and Dwarf King nodded to each other, hands on hearts. "How is your man, Kenelm?"

"He will live. Our Lord Elladan has tended him."

"That is happy news," Kili nodded.

"We will leave in the morning," Halden said. "Make for the North Moors."

Gunz felt his uncle's hand on his shoulder again. "This is the son of my brother Fili, King of Erebor."

Gunnar made a hand-on-heart bow. "Gunnar…at your service."

The man returned the hand-on-heart gesture.

"He is honored to serve beside you," his uncle announced. "As warrior and ravenspeaker."

* * *

Zêl, guard-tutor to the Princess Iri, stood patiently behind the princess in her study, hands folded in front of her. _I can almost see fine wisps of smoke rising from the young lass's sunny curls_ , she thought.

 _Granted_ , Zêl admitted, _this_ _calculation is a real challenge_. And indeed she herself had been brooding about this for hours (and nights) during the last days.

Old tomes from Erebor's library lay piled up on the big desk, along with loose parchments with endless columns of figures and half-spread scrolls. Zêl was always impressed by the calculations of the ancient scholars of Erebor and the knowledge behind them. All the more, she had set herself to take over the task of treasuring this knowledge and passing it on to the next generation.

Iri stood in front of a large slate wall and had already covered it with long rows of formulas and endless columns of numbers. As so often when she was pondering a truly difficult calculation **s** , she held the piece of chalk she used for writing and tapped her nose, leaving it powdered slightly white.

"Well?" Zêl asked.

"So..." Iri traced several long columns of numbers on slate wall, using the chalk as a pointer. Finally she drew a line under the calculation and added her result.

Zêl tilted her head (she'd make the same mistake at the beginning of her own calculations—the missing detail was really damn easily to overlook. No point in mentioning this.) ''So when will the next lunar eclipse take place?'' she asked.

Iri frowned, looked at her calculations again, then lowered her hand with the chalk. '' It takes place in the night. sixteen days before midsummer's eve—but it will be partial, six and a half tenths, '' Iri said and her frown smoothed out slightly.

Zêl stepped forward and stood next to Iri. "You are very close," she said calmly, pointing at a column of numbers on the left edge of the board with her hand. They had transferred those from one of the oldest scrolls. ''See ... here.''

''Gah.'' Iri stared at the corresponding numbers, then hung her head and the hand holding the chalk smacked her forehead, leaving more white marks on her face. "Of course," she exclaimed, and picking up the cloth on the tray, she wiped out the result and made a revision. ''This is a year of correction, otherwise the calendar does not work. The eclipse takes place a day later!" She turned to her teacher with a pleased expression.

''Exactly!'' Zêl beamed. ''And now check the numbers again, thoroughly.''

Iri looked confused. ''What ...?'' Closely she studied all the steps that covered the slate wall until she caught sight of the column with the numbers for the sun's position. Her eyes widened. ''The nodes...,'' Iri whispered. ''It's a pair. Moon and Sun orbit in a way that pass two consecutive nodes at the same time. Two weeks later a solar eclipse will take place!''

Zêl felt a profound joy about the fruits of her intensive lessons with the daughter of her King. The lass was a swift shieldmaid and skilled with her sword, but equally effortlessly her sharp mind saw through the complicated processes of the Celestial Apparitions. King Fili was justifiably proud of his older daughter.

''Yes,'' Zêl smiled widely. ''Very good!''

Iri set down the chalk and from the young Princess' expression Zêl could tell that the lass was thoroughly reconsidering this extraordinary phenomenon. ''That's really remarkable," Iri murmured. "And given the cryptic message he sent at the last eclipse, who knows what Thranduil will make of it this time."

Zêl nodded and involuntarily grimaced. She didn't sympathize with people who were scenting obscure omens from a natural phenomenon, or worse, using it as a justification to provoke quarrels, war, and resentment. Or (in the Elf-King's case) worrying the neighbors with unintelligible clues. And she especially made no pretense of her opinion about the esoteric Elves.

"That was also my thinking," she grumbled. ''Do you know—it's said that moon runes, no matter at what phase of the moon or time of the year they were written, are always revealed during a partial eclipse that belongs to a pair? Our dear friend Thranduil will go mad from this. Superstitions will be breeding all over Middle-earth." She shook her head.

"And it's almost midsummer," Iri added.

''What happens at midsummer?''

A new voice made them both turn to look at Fili striding into the room. Zêl bowed her head politely, hand on heart. The sight of her King immediately released her grudge on superstitious individuals, and she smiled to herself. It warmed her heart to see him doing better in the last few days. He seemed 'lighter' and some springiness was in his steps again.

Fili looked at Iri's work on the slate wall. ''Another lunar eclipse?" He guessed. ''Very nice.''

Iri grinned. ''Da! You recognize the _Útreikningur?"_

Zêl watched the warm smile spread across Fili's face. ''Of course,'' he said. "Balin used to do them. In regards to the moon, of course."

Fili held out an arm out to Iri for a quick embrace. Zêl folded her hands and stepped aside.

"You," Iri said, leaning back to look at him. "Have been ravenspeaking again this morning?" She smiled, plucking a small black feather from the trim on his collar. She took the feather and added it to the end of one of her braids.

''And you, my child," Fili smirked and wiped chalk dust from Iri's nose with his thumb. ''Have performed very complicated calculations again.'' Then he became solemn. "Raven from your uncle," Fili said. "With another update about your brother. Apparently they have both left Khelethur and are patrolling along the Lune.''

Zêl glanced at her king first, then to Iri. Neither spoke. She waited to see if Fili would add any more detail about the why of this, why King Kili and Prince Gunnar of Erebor had left the Blue Mountains, but he didn't say much more. "Besides," he added, "I'm way too late for the sword training with the cadets." He quickly planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead, nodded to Zêl, and then he rushed out of the room again. ''Keep up the good work," he called as he walked.

Iri watched him go. ''What do you think that is about?''

Zêl frowned. She had no inclination to speculate. The fact that Gunnar had stayed in Ered Luin for so long burdened the Royal Family and she did not want to add fuel to the fire. ''I can't say… Maybe we'll learn more when your brother finally returns. Come on, let's add the path of the eclipse to the map.'' Lost in thought, Iri nodded and stepped in front of a large map on the wall, showing the lunar orbits.

As Zêl set Iri to chart the path of the solar eclipse, she noticed three mistakes in the first three minutes of Iri's work, but said nothing, recognizing Iri's distraction and allowing the lass to find and correct her own errors. When her brother Gunz was mentioned, the lass' focus was done.

"We will not be able to see that one here in Erebor," Iri said sadly. ''Pity, it runs from the southwest coast of Eriador through the Shire, and then north into Arnor.''

''That's right.'' Zêl also regretted not seeing this event. Eriador… she had never traveled there. And Arnor...and old land of deep knowledge, that was for sure. But the thought of that old realm of men made her stomach lurch.

At the sound of three strikes on the King's bell, they both turned. Zel recognized the bell as the official royal summons.

"Come!" Iri called out.

''Princess Iri?'' The doors swung open. One of Fili's personal chamberlains entered the room and made a deep bow, his hand on his heart.

''Yes, Lord Chamberlain?'' Iri turned to the gray-haired dwarf, who wore a plethora of intricate braids in his long gray beard.

"The King requests your presence in his Hall, my Lady. An envoy has arrived." With that, the chamberlain withdraws.

Zêl understood. Such a request did not allow any delay. Not even for the elder daughter of the King. Hastily she looked left and right — where did Iri leave her cloak? Iri grabbed it from a chair and Zêl took it, shaking it out and then carefully draping it around the lass' shoulders and fluffing the wide fur collar. They both knew that it did not matter that she was wearing trousers underneath.

Zêl turned to the door, but Iri did not follow. Zêl frowned. Keeping the King waiting was not an option.

"Wait!" Iri called, opening three drawers at her desk and finally finding a silver hair clip stashed there for such need. She handed it to Zêl.

Zêl rolled her eyes, but quickly walked back, gathered some of the princess's braids, coiled them into an elaborate knot and fixed it with the clasp. She nodded in satisfaction. "Quick now, princess," she said, taking Iri's arm and ushering her to the door, down a corridor, and into the King's chamber. A warrior could appear in ragged armor before the king, but a princess? No.

Together, they entered the hall just in time to see the envoy, dressed in a black robe, kneeling before Fili, King of Erebor. Iri proceeded calmly and with a straight back. As Iri stopped beside her father, they head Fili's voice.

''Welcome to Erebor, Cuindel of Gondor.''

Zêl stopped dead in her tracks. She had somehow assumed the envoy would be elven, delivering yet another enigmatic message from King Thranduil.

But that was… _A man of Gondor!_

She forced herself to stand still, hoping with all her heart to avoid notice even though she would rather turn around and flee into the depths of her Princesses' rooms.

* * *

Translations:

 _Sugùl ma =_ yes, no question. (source: the Dwarrow Scholar)

 _Útreikningur_ = mathematical calculation (based on Icelandic)

* * *

A/N: THANK YOU for reading and apologies that it's been awhile since the last chapter. I do have a full-time day job...and there's another BIG PROJECT I've been working on...announcement about that will be soon! A huge shout out to **Jessie152** , who is writing the Zêl point-of-view scenes in this story (based on my bare-bones sketches.) She's also translating this story and simul-posting on the site in German. An extra shout-out to **AstroChief** , who double-checked Iri's conclusions to be sure they were in line with actual astronomical phenomena. Yay!

And a third shout-out to **Nenithiel** , who met up with me at San Diego Comic-Con for The One program about their history as a fan site-we were lucky to see the amazing Sir Richard Taylor (WETA) talking about the night he won his first two Academy Awards for FotR. What a gentleman. Also...news of the new Second Age LotR series on Amazon Prime is coming out in tiny bits...very interested in this and I hope it revives the fandom a bit!

As always, please drop a quick note and let me know that you're reading along. And apologies for the long time between chapters.

Hand on heart to you,

Summer


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Fili, King of Erebor, stood stone still and did not bow to Gondor's envoy, as was correct for a King. Beside him, his oldest daughter Iri stood equally still.

"I bring you dispatches from your stonemasons in Minas Tirith, for their kin," the envoy said in a smooth and feminine voice. Eyebrows rising, Fili considered that the tall Gondorian envoy was a woman, alike in dress as any Gondorian courier.

"Our thanks to you, Envoy Cuindel," he replied as Cuindel lifted a neat leather satchel and held it out flat as a formal offering. He recognized this as simply an opening courtesy. If this was all the envoy brought, she would have delivered it to the commander at the gate.

So he said nothing as Iri stepped forward and accepted the dispatches, her manner formal and gracious. But as she turned back to take her place beside him, Fili could see her eyes bright with a thousand new ideas.

 _Oh dear Mahal,_ he groaned to himself _. She'll be asking to ride the next courier horses to the Iron Hills. Or even worse, to the Blue Mountains…_

"I bring also a formal invitation to you from our good King Elessar." The envoy's clear voice cut through Fili's inner grumbling and she offered a parchment envelope to Fili with both hands, head slightly bowed.

Fili accepted the packet, eyes scanning for the secret mark that verified its authenticity, then flipped it over and broke the seal. He handed the outer envelope to Iri and snapped open the crisp paper. He scanned the words, written with stylized Gondorian letters in a silver ink, and his eyebrows raised.

"Aragorn travels north this summer?"

"Yes, my Lord," Cuindel answered.

Fili felt a distinct hollowness growing in the pit of his stomach, but he read on, murmuring his summary for Iri's sake. "He plans to hold court in Arnor and invites the northern kingdoms to join him at Lake Annuminas…"

Cuindel inclined her head in confirmation.

Fili's first reaction was annoyance. This was an error. "He means to invite my brother who no longer resides here. He is in Ered Luin, which sits much closer to Arnor."

"Yes, my lord. At least," Cuindel folded her hands (annoyingly elf-like, Fili thought) and added, "Your royal brother the King of Ered Luin has already been summoned. Our good Elessar means for both of you to attend."

Fili could feel his left lower eyelid twitching. _Leave Erebor…?_ He had not left for more than a day visit to Dale since…

 _Since the day I lost An._

Neither had he played his fiddle, sang more than a lullaby to his youngest bairn, or danced at the midwinter parties, even when Iri asked him to join her.

And Iri was reading over his shoulder. "He wishes us to bring copies from our archives?" she asked the envoy.

Fili blinked away the eye twitch and made himself focus on the section she was reading aloud. "…any archival logs detailing the early months of your reign in Erebor, for posterity. We are endeavoring to fully document the events of the last 200 years of the Third Age, including Thorin's last battle and the War of the Ring. We have already archived a copy of Bilbo's journal as completed by Frodo, and wish to add similar documents from the other realms of Middle Earth."

"Da…!" Iri whispered, eyes wide.

He ignored her.

"I see," Fili replied to Cuindel in his King Voice. "Thank you for the execution of your duty," he said. "I will prepare a response for you to take back to Aragorn." He waited to see if the envoy would say anything further, but she simply bowed again, hand on heart.

He returned the gesture, without the bow of course. And according to protocol, Gondor's envoy stood still when he took one step back and turned for the door. He was aware that his daughter performed a curtsy and said a few words of thanks to the envoy, offered a room and food and the obligatory tour…but he left without her, lengthening his strides and taking his roiling thoughts with him.

* * *

Fili made it to his ready room and closed the door, one hand on the wall to steady himself.

 _Thorin's last battle_.

Aragorn was mistaken if he thought those details had ever been documented in Erebor's archive.

They had not. _Mahal...no._

In truth, there were parts of Thorin's last battle that Fili didn't fully recall, and the things he did recall were odd, disjointed details: the freezing updraft of wind that blew ice across the hill like volleys of sharp darts. The roaring battle sounds from the plain below, rising and falling as if it were a contest of sport and not deadly earnest war.

He did recall looking up at Bolg: ugly, half-disfigured by old war wounds and bleeding heavily. The warrior goblin had one weapon: a massive barbed warsword with a wicked curve. Fili had never been in such a bad position, his eyes wide in battle mode, his brain assessing what strikes and angles had the best chance of stopping the hulk before him.

 _He fought alone now. Thorin lay not ten feet behind him, unable to rise, weakened from a gut wound. Kili… He had just seen his brother thrown backward from the force of a full barrage of many thick, long orc-arrows the size of spears...too many._

 _Dying…? Kili. No…_

 _He could spare nothing for his nadadith. Before him, Bolg stood tall, eyes narrowed, warsword raised...and foolishly exposing his bare right side. Fili took the chance, his battle training giving him speed._ _He surged upwards and with everything he had, slashed hard with his sword, slicing across the wicked goblin's right side._

 _Greenish-ochre blood flew, but didn't slow the big orc's counter-strike. With only a moment to react, Fili ducked as Bolg's blade came around._

 _But not fast enough._

 _He felt the blade slice across his pauldron and he hit the dirt hard from the force of it._

 _And then a deafening roar louder than a clap of thunder made him open his eyes to see a beast the size of a massive bear looming over him...and then passing him by to take hold of Bolg. It snapped its jaws around the huge orc and reared up, shaking the goblin violently and then dropping him, limp._

 _And as Fili lay blinking in incomprehension, the beast turned for Thorin._

 _Fili struggled to get up, desperate to protect his uncle._

 _But his shoulder was numb and he couldn't push himself up, couldn't find his balance...he could only stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the beast reached one curved paw for Thorin and scooped him up._

 _And the next moment, they were gone._

What happened next was a blur and Fili's understanding of the event was more from hearing Kili describe it afterwards. All he remembered was a sudden heavy weight, the stench of orc, and being unable to breathe-lights dancing in his vision and blood pounding in his ears, barely able to hear someone shouting _Du Bekaaaar!_

 _He had the impression of black feathers and flapping wings...but he felt his brain stalling, his world darkening, his senses fading..._

 _And then suddenly the weight was gone and he sucked in icy air...three more breaths and he tightened his grip on his sword, got his feet under him and as his vision cleared, tried to see what was happening._

 _Ravens. A hundred or more...fighting like he'd never seen, shredding Bolg's grisly hide with beaks like sharpened steel. Fili raised his weapon, looking again for the strike._

Get him! _He heard Thorin's voice in his head, as if he were in a training arena._ Make the kill, Fili!

 _He used his sword like an axe—both hands and swinging the blade down with a thunk on the back of Bolg's meaty, unprotected neck._

 _The ravens took wing in a riot of shrieking approval, shooting upward and widening their whirlwind circle to include attacks on goblins all over Ravenhill, and Fili stepped back, blinking in shock at them._

 _Within only a few minutes the flock was done with its deadly battle and dispersed. The top of Ravenhill became suddenly eerie and silent._

 _Fili looked back at Bolg. The big goblin was certainly dead, the sinew of his spinal cord glistening white from the gaping neck wound._

Now see to your brother...

 _Fili turned and stumbled to the place where Kili had fallen. To his great surprise and profound relief, Kili was on his feet—and not as dead as he'd feared._

 _"Just stuck in my chain mail," Kili panted, reaching for one of the arrow shafts and breaking it free. When blood didn't gush from the wound, Fili took heart and pulled the other two himself._

 _"Mahal, Kee. I thought they'd got you too…"_ _He leaned forward to touch foreheads with his brother...but the world around them became a sideways blur and he remembered nothing more._

* * *

Fili, standing still in the King's ready room in Erebor, rubbed his brow and forced himself to breathe. After a moment, he walked slowly to his desk and opened the side drawer and found the flask of single malt ambershine he kept there.

Two swigs later, he eased himself into his chair, tapping on the desktop and trying to sort out his thoughts.

Aragorn and Annuminas.

And an odd eclipse-given warning from Thranduil.

 _What a King desires lies in shadow still._

An ancient scroll.

 _This you must study to save your kin…._

 _Durin nosse anida tumba nu dagora nalla en' annuminas lirilla i' sikil en' nir' sana tuulo' numenor. i' er ya a' maa ten' i' sikil lotesse il- caela ta ar' will utua ere' ba..._

Annuminas.

 _Sikil en' nir'..._ knife of many.

Kili's news about orcs in Duillond…were tracking that villain the hobbits named Shadowback.

 _Red-moon marks a journey._ Aragorn was going to Annuminas.

 _Sikil en' nir'..._ knife of many blades.

And the image in his memory of Thorin's last battle on Ravenhill.

"Damn," Fili said aloud, taking one more swig of his ambershine. "Chamberlain!" he called.

 _This you must study to save your kin…._

A moment later, the hearty dwarf who managed the King's Halls appeared from an alcove.

 _YOU must study to save your kin…._

"Send to Fjalar," he demanded, rising from his chair and pinning the fellow with a steely eye. "Command him to meet me on Ravenhill at sunset."

The Chamberlain bowed quickly and spun on his heel.

 _Red-moon marks a journey._

"My journey," Fili said aloud, finally understanding in full what Thranduil had been trying to tell him.

.

.

.

* * *

Translation

 _Durin nosse anida tumba nu dagora nalla en' annuminas lirilla i' sikil en' nir' sana tuulo' numenor. i' er ya a' maa ten' i' sikil lotesse il- caela ta ar' will utua ere' ba..._

Durin kin beware: deep under the battle cry of annuminas lays the knife of many...taken from numenor. The one who seeks the knife may not have it and will find only death...

From The Tel'Quessir Online Translator

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 **A/N**

Thank you for your patience with the slow progress of this story. I think we are on the way to seeing everyone at Aragorn's party-if all the trouble can be resolved!

Yes, the story is slow because I work full-time, but I also took the vacation of a lifetime this past month...and made the pilgrimage to Hobbiton (Matamata, New Zealand) for International Hobbit Day. What a party! I met the fabulous Jessie152 in Auckland, and we spent almost two weeks having an amazing time. If you can ever make the trip, do it. Hobbiton in person is just pure magic-and quite a nice garden as well.

This kind of trip is not normally something I can afford to do, but it took a year of planning and paying for things (flights, AirBnBs) ahead of time...so I was able to make it work. And kudos to Air New Zealand's Vancouver-Auckland route. Long flight, but they make it as pleasant as possible. LOTR/Hobbit locales that I recommend: Weta Cave (Wellington), Hobbiton, Tongariro National Park (Mordor), and the lovely lady who does the Hairy Feet tour of the Trollshaws near Piopio. She has marked all the scene locations and has props-and helps you get the best photos. She truly understands the fandom. :D The US$ (and Euro) go a long way in NZ (check the exchange rate) and that makes the expenses a bit easier to manage. Two weeks in NZ is actually less $ than two weeks at home (except for the airfare part.) ;p Get a travel buddy who can fully pay their half of the expenses. (Hand on heart to Jessie152!)

The stars of the trip were a surprise-New Zealand's native birds were absolute charmers! It's as if they knew I cast Corax as a major character in my ffic stories and approved the inclusiveness of avian-kind. I now LOVE Tui (such a range of vocalizations), Piwakawaka (Fantails-such flirts), Puke (friendly and curious), and Kereru (aka Fat Pigeons...srsly look like pigeons but are the size of chicken.) Also the glow worm caves are not over-rated. Quite magical. (And I believe part of the Gollum-Bilbo riddle scene was filmed in one of the caves...)

There was a time in my life that this sort of travel seemed completely impossible...but time has helped me get braver and better at visualizing how to do it. So if there's something in your life that you've always wanted to do, my wish to you is that someday it becomes possible for you and you go for it.

Hand on heart, mellons!

And let me know you're reading-even a quick note is helpful.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Khuzdul translations in the footnote.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Fili's second son Gunz rode pillion behind one of the Dunedain and in his head he heard the voice of Pippin. The hobbit had been telling the tale just two nights ago of his ride on Shadowfax with Gandalf during the war.

"I just felt like so much baggage, I have to say," Pippin had looked him in the eye, then raised his ale for another drink.

 _Well, I know the feeling now,_ Gunz reflected. _Though the fate of all free peoples is not exactly hanging in the balance_. They were only hunting rogue goblins. _But the fate of my backside might be._

And the view ahead was unchanging: the chain-mail hood of Erion the Dunedain about one-hand's breadth from his nose.

The tall trees beside their trail cast shadows in the late afternoon sunlight and Gunz began to search they sky for ravens. He spotted three of them, gliding below the treetops to the south.

This was his task—ride with the Dunedain as Ravenspeaker, and relay messages from his uncle on western shore of the Lhun to his Dunedain hosts who patrolled the eastern shore.

In another hour, the ravens would be roosting.

As the Dunedain cantered their horses into a clearing, Gunz smacked Erion on the arm and gestured to the sky. Erion wheeled his horse out of line and circled, giving Gunz a chance to slide off the bay's rump, take a few wobbly steps away, and lift his arm in invitation.

Around him, the Dunedain circled and Halden rode toward him, reining to a stop within earshot.

 _Two groups,_ the first raven raven reported. _Run north. They run north. Blues kill five._

Gunz relayed this to Halden—of course his Uncle's message meant that his Blue Mountain trackers had killed five goblins. He took a few more steps away as a second raven demanded his attention.

 _Eight boats two paddle up little river._ It said. Again, Gunz relayed this to Halden.

"Two goblins each in eight boats?" Halden asked. "Coming up the Little Lhun, right to us," he grinned.

"Yes," Gunz replied, offering nuts to the raven. "It seems that many at least have crossed into Arnor."

Halden waved several scouts forward and began to issue orders.

Gunz looked for the third raven. This one had landed on a rock and sat ruffling its feathers until he waved a prize bit of dried Shire apple. He guessed this one was not one of his uncle's Ered Luin birds. This one had the rough look of having flown a distance.

When the raven finally came to his arm, he noted the small pink stone bead on a thin steel ring around its ankle.

 _From Iri…_ A message from his sister!

Yet the raven demanded three more bits of apple before raising its head and looking at Gunz.

 _Elf King dreamed…beware knife of Numenor. Goblins seek. King to kill._

Gunz blinked as he tried to focus on the bird, his heart pounding.

His uncle was a King.

* * *

Five days later Kili, King of Ered Luin, woke just enough to note the sound of dripping rain. His company of mountain warriors sheltered in a thick, overgrown wood. They were tracking goblins...with the purpose of driving them to cross the river into Dunedain lands. They had been running hard to force the goblins all the harder.

But even hardy dwarves needed food and rest.

But all they needed was a soaking rain to make things really miserable. Even the ravens would be soaked.

Kili opened his eyes at the soft crunch of heavy boots somewhere outside the thicket. Dwarf boots, he decided. _Camp guards on watch._

Even though it wasn't much of a camp, he told himself. Just a nest in a tangle of underbrush beneath broad-leaf beeches. It reduced the full downpour to a smattering of continual drips but was only slightly better than sleeping in the open.

He eased one shoulder away from a tree root and felt the presence of Skirfir against his back; assured that all was well, he closed his eyes again and let his mind drift. He needed to rest while he could, but it was never easy to find true sleep when he was away. He distracted himself with thoughts of home, the beauty of Khelethur, the laughter of his children…which led to visions of his lady wife. Her smile, that swing in her hip…her deep green eyes set off by the sparkle of gold on her ears.

The feel of her hand in his…her care when transferring their littlest one…baby Lís…into his arms.

 _That sweet lass was her own miracle,_ he smiled to himself.

It had been a very hot midsummer. Nÿr had been uncommonly overheated and sharp with the lads, even deep inside their stone rooms beneath the lodge.

Kili had finally recalled sage advice from his brother, stopped his constant duties, and declared a few private days off.

And with the sound of the midnight rain dripping in his wooded camp, Kili drifted towards sleep again, that summer day replaying in his mind.

 _He found her in their quarters, in the linen room, with both hands covering her face._

 _He said nothing. He knew she heard him and saw her arms fall to her side with the barest sigh._

 _Very gently he reached for the fingertips of one resigned hand, curling them lightly into his palm._

 _"Love…" he whispered, knowing that in the fever of Mahabrûf, the way into her favor was indirect. "There is a hidden waterfall to show you…"_

 _She said nothing._

 _"Cool mist…no one else there," he murmured, saying nothing more and letting her consider these two things he hoped she would like._

 _"My mother took us there once," he used his softest voice. "I found it again…just last week."_

 _She looked over her shoulder at him, always interested in his mother. But his heart sank at the sight of circles under her eyes and the puffiness to her cheeks that was not usually there…her pupils were wide, her eyes dark._

 _Oh my love… His chest went hollow, but he said nothing. Instead, he lifted her hand with a small gesture toward the door._

 _She stayed still a moment, but neither did she object as he took a small step and drew her toward the hallway. She followed like a sleepwalker, but she did not stop—and he knew that she had, for the moment, given up on resisting the call of Mahu._

 _He led her in silence down the least-used corridors to the side door used by the gardeners. Outside, he waved off two guards who both turned their backs as if they'd never seen them, standing at attention as if on duty. Even the ravens, ever curious whenever he left the lodge, circled away to follow at high altitude._

Back in the rainstorm, Kili opened his eyes to darkness at the sound of distant thunder rumbling long and low. _Northwest of us_ , he decided, slowly closing them again. Not a threat. He willed himself back to his memories.

 _He led Nÿr away from the main path and instead slowly guided her to a lilac hedge and ducked with her through the green thicket. She stumbled once on a crooked root and he stopped, letting her steady herself against his arm. Without comment, he waited until she took a breath and stepped forward again._

 _Several minutes beyond the formal gardens her stride became more sure, her pace matching his, yet he knew better than to expect conversation. Instead, he hoped she would just breathe in the forest air and let it lift her spirits. After a while, he turned to smile gently at her and let go of her hand as she walked beside him now with her usual, confident progress._

 _The walk did seem to help._

 _He fell into step with her, choosing an almost hidden, little-used path to the western branching of the Horsetail Stream. The soft earth beneath their feet turned to the smooth granite of Ered Luin's native stone as they came to the entrance of a tall narrow canyon. Ahead, an old, rough stairway climbed alongside the meandering course of a descending stream. High cliff walls rose to either side, funneling a cool breeze into their faces._

 _To his relief, Nÿr lifted her head and looked upwind, eyes curiously scanning the stone, and he smiled to see a healthy color back in her cheeks._

 _It took two hours to climb the winding stairs to the base of the tall waterfall. They stopped once and Kili crouched along the water's edge to cup a handful of water for her. She dipped her head to drink, then he watched as she splashed the rest into her face, gasped, and honored him with a genuine smile of relief._

 _Oh my love, he said again to himself, glad to see her looking better as they climbed on with a steady pace._

 _As the way narrowed, he took the lead, conscious of her following a step or two behind. Above the narrow slice of blue sky above them, at least three different ravens wove slowly high overhead, as if gliding lazily on_

 _thermals._

 _He remembered the look of the last turn in time to stop and look back at her. Putting his arm out to encircle her shoulder, he silently urged her walk ahead of him, aware of the pounding rush of water ahead…_

 _"Muzmnat-uslun," he spoke for the first time, murmuring the waterfall's Khuzdul name in her ear…the ear he so loved to nuzzle._

 _Her wide, green eyes met his and she grabbed his hand._

 _"Here?" she asked._

 _"Here," he said in his deepest voice and guided her around the turn._

 _The thunder of pounding water and a powerful mist blasted them from the base of the falls._

 _"Oh!" Nÿr gasped at the force of the water and the feel of stone vibrating beneath her feet. As he watched, Kili saw her close her eyes in relief and turn her face into the spray._

 _He steadied her, smiling to see her soaking in the coolness but stopped himself from taking her in his arms right there and kissing her open mouth._

 _Not yet, lad, he told himself. Not yet._

 _"Do you see the footholds?" he shouted so she could hear him over the roar of water. He pointed to the rough-hewn ledges to the left of the thundering water._

 _To his relief, she stepped forward, testing her footing on the first step, and after getting a small splash in the face, turned to him with a laugh._

 _He grinned in return, his own face dripping with water._

 _Yes._

 _She climbed, sure-footed now, as if eager to see where this odd little staircase, so close to the thundering water, would take her._

 _One more sharp curve around a granite outcropping and they could see—the last step became a ledge that broadened into a hollow just wide enough for a pair of dwarves to pass behind the shimmering veil of falling water._

 _Inside, the roar of the water lessened and they stood almost back-to-back, surveying the curving ceiling of the cave behind the water veil. Kili breathed deeply—he liked the satisfying feel of solid stone hidden from the sky and summer heat, and while the air inside was beautifully fresh and water-cooled, they were upwind of the blasting mist._

 _The sunlight that filtered through the waterfall picked up a dark shimmer at the back of the hollow cave._

 _When he saw that she'd noticed, he took her hand again and showed her what was there…on the rear wall of the cave, in a narrow crevice…a jumble of egg-like stones in a nest of dark glassy pebbles._

 _"My mother brought us here, years ago. Showed these to us." he murmured. "Pick one."_

 _Nÿr, her expression intent, ran her hands across the odd stones. She took one that just fit in her hand and turned to him with a quirk of one eyebrow and a smile._

 _"Geode," she guessed._

 _Kili smiled and pointed to a flat ledge._

 _She went to it, set the odd rock on it and stepped back, looking at him expectantly._

 _Kili reached inside his vest for two tools and handed her a spike and hammer he'd brought just for this._

 _She knew just what to do, and with skilled hands set the spike and tapped it with just the right amount of force. With a snap, the stone cracked and fell open in three pieces._

 _Nyr's eyes widen and she gasped…the hollow stone's inner lining was a mass of sparkling deep blue crystal._

 _"Did you never wonder why Ered Luin's color is blue?" he murmured, smiling at her._

 _She blinked at him but didn't answer. Then she dropped the tools next to the little prize and wrapped her arms around him with more force than he expected._

 _Her mouth was on his ear…_

 _"I am more interested," she said in a husky voice. "That it broke into_ three _pieces."_

 _His arms came around her with all his strength and his lips found hers. They kissed long and deep…_

 _And then that familiar scramble of fingers on buckles, coats dropped to the floor, and the feel of her hands on his bare skin._

 _The coats made enough of a nest—no more than they'd had that first time, trapped in a snow shelter all those years ago..._

* * *

Kili's eyes popped open at a booming explosion so close it felt directly over their heads. In an automatic gesture he sat up, hand on his sword. Next to him, Skirfir was on his feet, instantly between him and the small opening to the outside world.

"Thunder…it's just thunder," Kili said to Skirf as his pounding heartbeat slowed again to normal.

"Close one," the outside guards called as the rain drummed harder.

Just as well, Kili thought to himself, regretting the end of the dreamy idyll in his head. Yet he smiled to himself. It was a reminder, he decided, that his home was worth protecting.

He raised his hood, warm and dry inside his leathers, and re-positioned his bandolier.

"Might as well take the watch," he said to Skirf. "Maybe someone else can sleep."

* * *

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A/N Thanks so much for reading! Hope you liked the fluffy interlude... As always, I appreciate a quick note from readers; it lets me know you're out there! Shout out to **Celebrisilweth** and **Nenithiel** who have been such fabulous long-time readers. Also **ThatOtherWriterGirl** , **melisande25** and **Sparklegirl71**! And welcome aboard **RemiSparklez**! And of course a bug hand on heart to **Jessie152** , who is a fab beta reader and travelbuddy. I really appreciate all your notes and hope other readers look at your works as well. (Check them out!)

Just so you know, I have been working hard on a "serial numbers rubbed off" novella that will be available online this spring...look for an announcement with the next chapter, probably in March. :D

Cheers to you!

* * *

 _Khuzdul words:_

 _Muzmnat-uslun =_ horsetail waterfall (Horsetail Falls.)

 _Mahabrûf and Mahu:_ literally, "breeding." See Warhammers, Ch 18 for more details. I have made up this concept based on available information gleaned from Tolkien and other LOTR sources. _Mahabrûf_ refers to the dwarven female fertility cycle, the rare time when conception is possible. It will occur maybe only 4-5 times in her lifetime. Some lasses welcome _mahabrûf_ as the promise of a child, others pass through the time in embarrassed dismay or anger that the situation is out of her control and choose to sequester themsleves in privacy. Male dwarves are mystified by the cycle, but also quite irresistibly drawn to and protective of a lass in her "time," if she will even have them near. (Fili secretly calls this "broody mama time," btw, and he has coached his little brother quite well in how to navigate the dangers of a lass in the turmoil of her "time.") Once conception has occurred, the symptoms vanish. A dwarf pregnancy will last 20-24 months. Why does it matter? Post-LOTR, low birth rates are the biggest threat to the survival of the dwarves as a people. So _mahabrûf_ is a serious and intimate family concern.


End file.
